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ANTOKINA 


OR 


FALL    OF    ROME 


BY 

WILKIE    COLLINS 

AUTHOR   OF 

"the  woman  in  white"  "thk  dead  secret"  "armadalk" 
"  thk  moonstone  "  "  man  and  wife  "  etc.,  etc. 


"La  ville  cesse  d'etre 
Le  Remain  est  esclave,  et  le  Goih  est  son  maitre" 

SouDEKi,  "  Alariqtie" 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

189  3 


; 


suck 


2224530 


P  R  E  F  A  C  E. 


In  preparing  to  compose  a  fiction  founded  on  history, 
the  writer  of  these  pages  thought  it  no  necessary  requisite 
of  such  a  work  that  the  principal  characters  appearing  in 
it  should  be  drawn  from  the  historical  personages  of  the 
period.  On  the  contrary,  he  felt  that  some  very  weighty 
objections  attached  to  this  plan  of  composition.  He  knew 
well  that  it  obliged  a  writer  to  add  largely  from  invention 
to  what  was  actually  known — to  fill  in  with  the  coloring 
of  romantic  fancy  the  bare  outline  of  historic  fact — and 
thus  to  place  the  novelist's  fiction  in  what  he  could  not 
but  consider  most  unfavorable  contrast  to  the  historian's 
truth.  He  was,  further,  by  no  means  convinced  that  any 
story  in  which  historical  characters  supplied  the  main 
agents,  could  be  preserved  in  its  fit  unity  of  design,  and 
restrained  within  its  due  limits  of  development,  without 
some  falsification  or  confusion  of  historical  dates — a  species 
of  poetical  license  of  which  he  felt  no  disposition  to  avail 
himself,  as  it  was  his  main  anxiety  to  make  his  plot  in- 
variably arise  and  proceed  out  of  the  great  events  of  the 
era,  exactly  in  the  order  in  which  they  occurred. 

Influenced  therefore  by  these  considerations,  he  thought 
that  by  forming  all  his  principal  characters  from  imagina- 
tion, he  should  be  able  to  mould  them  as  he  pleased  to  the 
main  necessities  of  the  story ;  to  display  them,  without  any 
impropriety,  as  influenced  in  whatever  manner  appeared 
most  strikingly  interesting  by  its  minor  incidents;  and  fur- 
ther to  make  them,  on  all  occasions,  without  trammel  or 


8  FBEFACS. 

hinderance,  the  practical  exponents  of  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
of  all  the  various  historical  illustrations  of  the  period,  which 
the  Author's  researches  among  conflicting  but  equally  im- 
portant authorities  had  enabled  him  to  garner  up.  While, 
at  the  same  time,  the  appearance  of  verisimilitude  necessa- 
ry to  an  historical  romance  might,  he  imagined,  be  success- 
fully preserved  by  the  occasional  introduction  of  the  liv- 
ing characters  of  the  era,  in  those  portions  of  the  plot 
comprising  events  with  which  they  had  been  remarkably 
connected. 

On  this  plan  the  present  work  has  been  produced. 

To  the  fictitious  characters  alone  is  committed  the  task 
of  representing  the  spirit  of  the  age.  The  Roman  Emper- 
or, Honorius,  and  the  Gothic  King,  Alaric,  mix  but  little 
personally  in  the  business  of  the  story — only  appearing  in 
such  events,  and  acting  under  such  circumstances,  as  the 
records  of  history  strictly  authorize ;  but  exact  truth  in  re- 
spect to  time,  place,  and  circumstance  is  observed  in  every 
historical  event  introduced  in  the  plot,  from  the  period  of 
the  march  of  the  Gothic  invaders  over  the  Alps  to  the 
close  of  the  first  barbarian  blockade  of  Rome. 


ANTONINA; 


OK, 


THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 


CHAPTER  I. 

GOISVINTHA. 

The  mountains  forming  the  range  of  Alps  which  border 
on  the  north-eastern  confines  of  Italy  were,  in  the  autumn 
of  the  year  408,  already  furrowed  in  numerous  directions 
by  the  tracks  of  the  invading  forces  of  those  Northern  na- 
tions generally  comprised  under  the  appellation  of  Goths. 
In  some  places  these  tracks  were  denoted  on  either  side  by 
fallen  trees,  and  occasionally  assumed,  when  half  obliterated 
by  the  ravages  of  storms,  the  appearance  of  desolate  and  ir- 
regular marshes.  In  other  places  they  were  less  palpable. 
Here,  the  temporary  path  was  entirely  hidden  by  the  incur- 
sions of  a  swollen  torrent ;  there,  it  was  faintly  percepti- 
ble in  occasional  patches  of  soft  ground,  or  partly  traceable 
by  fragments  of  abandoned  armor,  skeletons  of  horses  and 
men,  and  remnants  of  the  rude  bridges  which  had  once  served 
for  passage  across  a  river,  or  transit  over  a  precipice. 

Among  the  rocks  of  the  topmost  of  the  range  of  mount- 
ains immediately  overhanging  the  plains  of  Italy,  and  pre- 
senting the  last  barrier  to  the  exertions  of  a  traveler,  or 
the  march  of  an  invader,  there  lay,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
fifth  century,  a  little  lake.  Bounded  on  three  sides  by  prec- 
ipices, its  narrow  banks  barren  alike  of  vei'dure  or  habita- 
tions, and  its  dark,  stagnant  water  brightened  but  rarely 
by  the  presence  of  the  lively  sunlight,  this  solitary  spot — 
at  all  times  mournful — presented,  on  the  autumn  of  the  day 
when  our  story  commences,  an  aspect  of  desolation  at  once 
dismal  to  the  eye  and  oppressive  to  the  heart. 

1* 


10  antonina;  or,  thb  fall  op  rome. 

It  was  near  noon ;  but  no  sun  appeared  in  the  heaven. 
The  dull  clouds,  monotonous  in  color  and  form,  hid  all  beau- 
ty in  the  firmament,  and  shed  heavy  darkness  on  the  earth. 
Dense,  stagnant  vapors  clung  to  the  mountain  summits; 
from  the  drooping  trees  dead  leaves  and  rotten  branches 
sunk,  at  intervals,  on  the  oozy  soil,  or  whirled  over  the 
gloomj'  precipice;  and  a  small,  steady  rain  fell,  slow  and 
unintermitting,  upon  the  deserts  around.  Standing  upon  the 
path  which  armies  had  once  trodden,  and  which  armies  were 
still  destined  to  tread,  and  looking  toward  the  solitary  lake, 
you  heard,  at  fii-st,  no  sound  but  the  regular  dripping  of  the 
rain-drops  from  rock  to  rock;  you  saw  no  prospect  but  the 
motionless  waters  at  your  feet,  and  dusky  the  crags  which 
shadowed  them  from  above.  When,  however,  impressed  by 
the  mysterious  loneliness  of  the  place,  the  eye  grew  more 
penetrating,  and  the  ear  more  attentive,  a  cavern  became 
apparent  in  the  precipices  round  the  lake  ;  and,  in  the  inter- 
vals of  the  heavy  rain-drops,  were  faintly  perceptible  the 
sound  of  a  human  voice. 

The  mouth  of  the  cavern  was  partly  concealed  by  a  large 
stone,  on  which  were  piled  some  masses  of  rotten  brush-wood, 
as  if  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  any  inhabitant  it  might 
contain  from  the  coldness  of  the  atmosphere  without.  Placed 
at  the  eastward  boundary  of  the  lake,  this  strange  place  of 
refuge  commanded  a  view  not  only  of  the  rugged  path  im- 
mediately below  it,  but  of  a  large  plot  of  level  ground  q,t  a 
short  distance  to  the  west,  which  overhung  a  second  and 
lower  range  Of  rocks.  From  this  spot  might  be  seen  far 
beneath,  on  days  when  the  atmosphere  was  clear,  the  olive 
grounds  that  clothed  the  mountain's  base;  and  beyond, 
stretching  away  to  the  distant  horizon,  the  plains  of  fated 
Italy,  whose  destiny  of  defeat  and  shame  was  now  hastening 
to  its  dark  and  fearful  accomplishment. 

The  cavern  within  was  low  and  irregular  in  form.  From 
its  rugged  walls  the  damp  oozed  forth  upon  its  floor  of  de- 
cayed moss.  Lizards  and  noisome  animals  had  tenanted  its 
comfortless  recesses  undisturbed,  until  the  period  we  have . 
just  described,  when  their  miserable  rights  were  infringed 
on  for  the  first  time  by  human  intruders. 
-  A  woman  crouched  near  the  entrance  of  the  place.  More 
within,  on  the  dryest  part  of  Ithe  ground,  lay  a  child  asleep. 


antonina;  or,  the  j-all  of  eome,  li 

Between  them  were  scattered  some  withered  branches  and 
decayed  leaves,  which  were  arranged  as  if  to  form  a  fire.  In 
many  parts  this  scanty  collection  of  fuel  was  slightly  black- 
ened ;  but,  wetted  as  it  was  by  the  rain,  all  efforts  to  light 
it  permanently  had  evidently  been  fruitless. 

The  woman's  head  was  bent  forward,  and  her  face,  hid  in 
her  hands,  rested  on  her  knees.  At  intervals  she  muttered 
to  herself,  in  a  hoarse,  moaning  voice.  A  portion  of  her 
scanty  clothing  had  been  removed  to  cover  the  child.  What 
remained  on  her  was  composed  partly  of  skins  of  animals, 
partly  of  coarse  cotton  cloth.  In  many  places  this  misera- 
ble dress  was  marked  with  blood,  and  her  long,^  flaxen  hair 
bore  upon  its  disheveled  locks  the  same  ominous  and  repul- 
sive stain. 

The  child  seemed  scarcely  four  years  of  age,  and  showed 
on  his  pale  thin  face,  all  the  peculiarities  of  his  Gothic  ori- 
gin. His  features  seemed  to  have  been  once  beautiful,  both 
in  expression  and  form ;  but  a  deep  wound,  extending  the 
whole  length  of  his  cheek,  had  now  deformed  him  forever. 
He  shivered  and  trembled  in  his  sleep,  and  every  now  and 
then  mechanically  stretched  forth  his  little  arms  toward  the 
dead,  cold  branches  that  were  scattered  before  him.  Sud- 
denly a  large  stone  became  detached  from  the  rock  in  a  dis- 
tant part  of  the  cavern,  and  fell  noisily  to  the  ground.  At 
this  sound  he  woke  with  a  scream — raised  himselfT— endeav- 
ored to  advance  toward  the  woman,  and  'staggered  back- 
ward against  the  side  of  the  cave.  A  second  wound  in  the 
leg  had  wreaked  that  destruction  on  his  vigor  which  the  first 
had  effected  on  his  beauty.     He  was  a  cripple. 

At  the  instant  of  his  awakening  the  woman  had  started 
up.  She  now  raised  him  from  the  ground,  and  taking  some 
herbs  from  her  bosom,  applied  them  to  his  wounded  cheek. 
By  this  action  her  dress  became  discomposed  ;  it  was  stiff  at 
the  top  with  coagulated  blood,  which  had  evidently  flowed 
from  a  cut  in  her  neck.  All  her  attempts  to  compose  the 
child  were  in  vain ;  he  moaned  and  wept  piteously,  mutter- 
ing, at  intervals,  his  disjointed  exclamations  of  impatience  at 
the  coldness  of  the  place  and  the  agony  of  his  recent  wounds. 
Speechless  and  tearless  the  wretched  woman  looked  vacant- 
ly down  on  his  face.  There  was  little  diflSculty  in  discern- 
ing from  that  fixed,  disti-acted  gaze  the  nature  of  the  tie 


12  antonina;  oh,  the  fall  of  eomh. 

that  bound  the  mourning  woman  to  the  suffering  boy.  The 
expression  of  rigid  and  awful  despair  that  lowered  in  her 
fixed,  gloomy  eyes;  the  livid  paleness  that  discolored  her 
compressed  lips ;  the  spasms  that  shook  her  firm,  command- 
ing form,  mutely  expressing  in  the  divine  eloquence  of  hu- 
man emotion,  that  between  the  solitary  pair  there  existed 
the  most  intimate  of  earth's  relationships — the  connection 
of  mother  and  child. 

For  some  time  no  change  occurred  in  the  woman's  de- 
meanor. At  last,  as  if  struck  by  some  sudden  suspicion,  she 
rose,  and,  clasping  the  child  in  one  arm,  displaced  with  the 
other  the  brush-wood  at  the  entrance  of  her  place  of  refuge, 
cautiously  looking  forth  on  all  that  the  mists  left  visible  of 
the  western  landscape.  After  a  short  survey,  she  drew  back 
as  if  re-assured  by  the  unbroken  solitude  of  the  place,  and 
turning  toward  the  lake  looked  down  upon  the  black  waters 
at  her  feet. 

"  Night  has  succeeded  to  night,"  she  muttered,  gloomily ; 
"and  has  brought  no  succor  to  my  body,  and  no  hope  to  my 
heai't !  Mile  on  mile  have  I  journeyed,  and  danger  is  still 
behind,  and  loneliness  forever  before.  The  shadow  of  death 
deepens  over  the  boy;  the  burden  of  anguish  grows  weight- 
ier than  I  can  bear.  For  me,  friends  are  murdered,  defend- 
ers are  distant,  possessions  are  lost.  The  God  of  the  Chris- 
tian priests  has  abandoned  us  to  danger,  and  deserted  us  in 
woe.  It  is  for  me  to  end  the  struggle  for  us  both.  Our  last 
refuge  has  been  in  this  place — our  sepulchre  shall  be  here  as 
well !" 

With  one  last  look  at  the  cold  and  comfortless  sky,  she 
advanced  to  the  very  edge  of  the  lake's  precipitous  bank. 
Already  the  child  was  raised  in  her  arms,  and  her  body  bent 
to  accomplish  successfully  the  fatal  spring,  when  a  sound  in 
the  east — faint,  distant,  and  fugitive  —  caught  her  eai".  In 
an  instant  her  eye  brightened,  her  chest  heaved,  her  cheek 
flushed.  She  exerted  the  last  relics  of  her  wasted -strength 
to  gam  a  promment  position  upon  a  ledge  of  the  rocks  be- 
hind her,  and  waited  in  an  agony  of  expectation  for  a  repeti- 
tion of  that  magic  sound. 

In  a  moment  more  she  heard  it  again— for  the  child,  stu- 
pefied with  terror  at  the  action  that  had  accompanied  her 
determination  to  plunge  with  him  into  the  lake,  now  kept 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  13 

silence,  and  she  could  listen  undisturbed.  To  nnpracticed 
ears  the  sound  that  so  entranced  her  would  have  been 
scarcely  audible.  Even  the  experienced  traveler  would 
have  thought  it  nothing  more  than  the  echo  of  a  fallen  stone 
among  the  rocks  in  the  eastward  distance.  But  to  her  it 
was  no  unimportant  sound,  for  it  gave  the  welcome  signal 
of  deliverance  and  delight. 

As  the  hour  wore  on,  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  tossed 
about  by  the  sportive  echoes,  and  now  clearly  betraying 
that  its  origin  was,  as  she  had  at  first  divined,  the  note  of 
the  Gothic  trumpet.  Soon  the  distant  music  ceased,  and 
was  succeeded  by  another  sound  low  and  rumbling,  as  of  an 
earthquake  afar  off",  or  a  rising  thunder-storm,  and  changing, 
ere  long,  to  a  harsh,  confused  noise,  like  the  rustling  of  a 
mighty  wind  through  whole  forests  of  brush-wood.  At  this 
instant  the  woman  lost  all  command  over  herself;  her  for- 
mer patience  and  caution  deserted  her;  reckless  of  danger, 
she  placed  the  child  upon  the  ledge  on  which  she  had  been 
standing ;  and,  though  trembling  in  every  limb,  succeeded 
in  mounting  so  much  higher  on  the  crag  as  to  gain  a  fissure 
near  the  top  of  the  rock,  which  commanded  an  uninterrupted 
view  of  the  vast  tracts  of  uneven  ground,  leading  in  an  east- 
erly direction  to  the  next  range  of  precipices  and  ravines.    • 

One  after  another  the  long  minutes  glided  on ;  and,  though 
much  was  still  audible,  nothing  was  yet  to  be  seen.  At 
length,  the  shrill  sound  of  the  trumpet  again  rang  through 
the  dull,  misty  air;  and  the  next  instant  the  advance-guard 
of  an  army  of  Goths  emerged  from  the  distant  woods. 

Then,  after  an  interval,  the  multitudes  of  the  main  body 
thronged  through  every  outlet  in  the  trees,  and  spread  in 
dusky  masses  over  the  desert  ground  that  lay  between  the 
woods  and  the  rocks  about  the  borders  of  the  lake.  The 
front  ranks  halted,  as  if  to  communicate  with  the  crowds  of 
the  rear-guard,  and  the  stragglers  among  the  baggage-wag- 
ons, who  still  poured  forth,  apparently  in  interminable  hosts, 
from  the  concealment  of  the  distant  trees.  The  advanced 
troops,  evidently  with  the  intention  of  examining  the  roads, 
still  marched  rapidly  on,  until  they  gained  the  foot  of  the 
ascent  leading  to  the  crags  to  which  the  woman  still  clung, 
and  from  which,  with  eager  attention,  she  still  watched  their 
movements. 


ii  antonina;  01^  the  fall  op  rome. 

Placed  in  a  situation  of  the  extreraest  peril,  her  strength 
was  her  only  preservative  against  the  danger  of  slipping 
from  her  high  and  narrow  elevation.  Hitherto,  the  moral 
excitement  of  expectation  had  given  her  the  physical  power 
necessary  to  maintain  her  position ;  but  just  as  the  leaders 
of  the  guard  arrived  at  the  cavern,  her  overwrought  ener- 
gies suddenly  deserted  her;  her  hands  relaxed  their  grasp; 
she  tottered,  and  would  have  sunk  backward  to  instant  de- 
struction, had  not  the  skins  wrapped  about  her  bosom  and 
waist  become  entangled  with  a  point  of  one  of  the  jagged 
rocks  immediately  around  her.  Fortunately — for  she  could 
utter  no  cry  —  the  troops  halted  at  this  instant  to  enable 
their  horses  to  gain  breath.  Two  among  them  at  once  per- 
ceived her  position  and  detected  her  nation.  They  mounted 
the  rocks;  and,  while  one  possessed  himself  of  the  child,  the 
other  succeeded  in  rescuing  the  mother  and  bearing  her  safe- 
ly to  the  ground. 

The  snorting  of  horses,  the  clashing  of  weapons,  the  con- 
fusion of  loud,  rough  voices,  which  now  startled  the  native 
silence  of  the  solitary  lake,  and  which  would  have  bewilder- 
ed and  overwhelmed  most  persons  in  the  woman's  exhausted 
condition,  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  to  re-assure  her  feelings 
and  reanimate  her  powers.  She  disengaged  herself  from 
her  preserver's  support,  and,  taking  her  child  in  her  arms, 
advanced  toward  a  man  of  gigantic  stature,  whose  rich  ar- 
mor sufficiently  announced  that  his  position  in  the  army 
was  one  of  command. 

"  I  am  Goisvintha" — said  she,  in  a  firm,  calm  voice — "  sis- 
ter to  Hermanric.  I  have  escaped  from  the  massacre  of  the 
hostages  of  Aquileia  with  one  child.  Is  my  brother  with 
the  army  of  the  king  ?'* 

This  declaration  produced  a  marked  change  in  the  by- 
standers. The  looks  of  indifference,  or  curiosity,  which  they 
had  at  first  cast  on  the  fugitive  changed  to  tlie  liveliest  ex- 
pression of  wonder  and  respect.  The  chieftain  whom  she 
had  addressed  raised  the  visor  of  his  helmet  so  as  to  uncov- 
er his  face,  answered  her  question  in  the  affirmative,  and  or- 
dered two  soldiers  to  conduct  her  to  the  temporary  encamp- 
ment of  the  main  army  in  the  rear.  As  she  turned  to  de- 
part, an  old  man  advanced,  leaning  on  his  long,  heavy  sword, 
and  accosted  her  thus : 


atttonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  15- 

"I  am  Withimer,  whose  daughter  was  left  hostage  with  the 
Romans,  in  Aquileia,    Is  she  of  the  slain,  or  of  the  escaped?" 

"Her  bones  rot  under  the  city  walls,"  was  the  answer. 
"  The  Romans  made  of  her  a  feast  for  the  dogs." 

No  word  or  tear  escaped  the  old  warrior.  He  turned  in 
the  direction  of  Italy ;  but,  as  he  looked  downward  toward 
the  plains,  his  brow  lowered,  and  his  hands  tightened  me- 
chanically round  the  hilt  of  his  enormous  weapon. 
,  The  same  gloomy  question  was  propounded  to  Goisvintha 
by  the  two  men  who  guided  her  to  the  army  that  had  been 
asked  by  their  aged  comrade.  It  received  the  same  terrible 
answer,  which  was  borne  with  the  same  stern  composure,  and 
followed  by  the  same  ominous  glance  in  the  direction  of  It- 
aly, as  in  the  instance  of  the  veteran  Withimer. 
.  Leading  the  horse  that  carried  the  exhausted  woman  with 
the  utmost  care,  and  yet  with  wonderful  rapidity,  down  the 
paths  which  they  had  so  recently  ascended,  the  men  in  a 
short  space  of  time  reached  the  place  where  the  army  had 
halted,  and  displayed  to  Goisvintha,  in  all  the  majesty  of 
numbers  and  repose,  the  vast  martial  assemblage  of  the  war- 
riors of  the  North. 

No  brightness  gleamed  from  their  armor;  no  banners 
waved  over  their  heads ;  no  music  sounded  among  their 
ranks.  Backed  by  the  dreary  woods  which  still  disgorged 
unceasing  additions  to  the  warlike  multitude  already  en- 
camped ;  surrounded  by  the  desolate  crags  which  showed 
dim,  wild,  and  majestic  through  the  darkness  of  the  mist; 
covered  with  the  dusky  clouds  which  hovered  motionless 
over  the  barren  mountain  tops,  and  poured  their  stormy  wa- 
ters on  the  uncultivated  plains ;  all  that  the  appearance  of 
the  Goths  had  of  solemnity  in  itself  was  in  awful  harmony 
with  the  cold  and  mournful  aspect  that  the  face  of  Nature 
had  assumed.  Silent — menacing — dark — the  army  looked 
the  fit  embodiment  of  its  leader's  tremendous  purpose — the 
subjugation  of  Rome. 

Conducting  Goisvintha  quickly  through  the  front  files 
of  warriors,  her  guides,  pausing  at  a  spot  of  ground  which 
shelved  upward  at  right  angles  with  the  main  road  from  the 
woods,  desired  her  to  dismount ;  and,  pointing  to  the  group 
that  occupied  the  place,  said,  "Yonder  is  Alaric,  the  king; 
and  with  him, is  Hermanric,  thy  brother."^      •      ::  :..*::.:,,!■:) 


16  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  home. 

At  whatever  point  of  view  it  could  have  been  regarded, 
the  assemblage  of  persons  thus  indicated  to  Goisvintha  must 
have  arrested  inattention  itself  Near  a  confused  mass  of 
weapons,  scattered  on  the  ground,  reclined  a  group  of  war- 
riors apparently  listening  to  the  low,  muttered  conversation 
of  three  men  of  great  age,  who  rose  above  them,  seated  on 
pieces  of  rock,  and  whose  long,  white  hair,  rough  skin  dresses, 
and  lean,  tottering  forms,  appeared  in  strong  contrast  with 
the  iron-clad  and  gigantic  figures  of  their  auditors  beneath. 
Above  the  old  men,  on  the  high-road,  was  one  of  Alaric's 
wagons;  and  on  the  heaps  of  baggage  piled  against  its 
clumsy  wheels  had  been  chosen  the  resting-place  of  the  fu- 
ture conqueror  of  Rome.  The  top  of  the  vehicle  seemed  ab- 
solutely teeming  with  a  living  burden.  Perched  in  every 
available  nook  and  corner,  were  women  and  children  of  all 
ages,  and  weapons  and  live  stock  of  all  varieties.  Now  a 
child — lively,  mischievous,  inquisitive — peered  forth  over  the 
head  of  a  battering-ram.  Now  a  lean,  hungry  sheep  ad- 
vanced his  inquiring  nostrils  sadly  to  the  open  air,  and  dis- 
played by  the  movement  the  head  of  a  withered  old  wom- 
an, pillowed  on  his  woolly  flanks.  Here  appeared  a  young 
girl,  struggling  half  entombed  in  shields.  There  gasped  an 
emaciated  camp-follower,  nearly  suffocated  in  heaps  of  furs. 
The  whole  scene,  with  its  background  of  great  woods, 
drenched  in  a  vapor  of  misty  rain ;  with  its  striking  con- 
trasts at  one  point  and  its  solemn  harmonies  at  another,  pre- 
sented a  vast  combination  of  objects  that  either  startled  or 
awed — a  gloomy  conjunction  of  the  menacing  and  the  sublime. 

Bidding  Goisvintha  wait  near  the  wagon,  one  of  her  con- 
ductors approached  and  motioned  aside  a  young  man  stand- 
ing near  the  king.  As  the  warrior  rose  to  obey  the  demand, 
he  displayed  with  all  the  physical  advantages  of  his  race,  an 
ease  and  elasticity  of  movement  unusual  among  the  men  of 
his  nation.  At  the  instant  when  he  joined  the  soldier  who 
had  accosted  him,  his  face  was  partially  concealed  by  an  im- 
mense helmet,  crowned  with  a  boar's  head,  the  mouth  of 
which,  forced  open  at  death,  gaped  wide,  as  if  still  raging 
for  prey.  But  the  man  had  scarcely  stated  his  errand,  when 
he  started  violently,  removed  the  gi*im  appendage  of  war, 
^nd  hastened  bare-headed  to  the  side  of  the  wagon  where 
Goisvintha  awaited  his  approach. 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  lY 

The  instant  he  was  beheld  by  the  woman  she  hastened  to 
meet  him,  placed  the  wounded  child  in  his  arms,  and  greet- 
ed him  with  these  words: 

"  Your  brother  served  in  the  armies  of  Rome  when  our 
people  were  at  peace  with  the  Empire.  Of  his  household 
and  his  possessions  this  is  all  that  the  Romans  have  left !" 

She  ceased ;  and  for  an  instant  the  brother  and  sister 
regarded  each  other  in  touching  and  expressive  silence. 
Though,  in  addition  to  the  general  characteristics  of  coun- 
try, the  countenances  of  the  two  naturally  bore  the  more 
particular  evidences  of  community  of  blood,  all  resemblance 
between  them,  at  this  instant  —  so  wonderful  is  the  power 
of  expression  over  feature — had  utterly  vanished.  The  face 
and  manner  of  the  young  man  (he  had  numbered  only  twen- 
ty years)  expressed  a  deep  sorrow ;  manly  in  its  stern  tran- 
quillity; sincere  in  its  perfect  innocence  of  display.  As  he 
looked  on  the  child,  his  blue  eyes — bright,  piercing,  and  live- 
1}- — softened  like  a  woman's;  his  lips,  hardly  hidden  by  his 
short  beard,  closed  and  quivered  ;  and  his  chest  heaved  un- 
der the  armor  that  lay  upon  its  noble  proportions.  There 
was  in  this  simple,  speechless,  tearless  melancholy  —  this 
exquisite  consideration  of  triumphant  strength  for  suffering 
weakness,  something  almost  sublime;  opposed  as  it  was  to 
the  emotions  of  malignity  and  despair,  that  appeared  in 
Goisvintha's  features.  The  ferocity  that  gleamed  from  her 
dilated,  glaring  eyes ;  the  sinister  markings  that  appeared 
round  her  pale  and  parted  lips;  the  swelling  of  the  large 
veins,  drawn  to  their  extremest  point  of  tension  on  her  lofty 
forehead,  so  distorted  her  countenance,  that  the  brother  and 
sister,  as  they  stood  together,  seemed  in  expression  to  have 
changed  sexes  for  the  moment.  From  the  warrior,  came 
pity  for  the  sufferer — from  the  mother,  indignation  for  the 
offense. 

Arousing  himself  from  his  melancholy  contemplation  of 
the  child,  and  as  yet  answering  not  a  word  to  Goisvintha, 
Hermanric  mounted  the  wagon,  and  placing  the  last  of  his 
sister's  offspring  in  the  arms  of  a  decrepit  old  woman,  who 
sat  brooding  over  some  bundles  of  herbs  spread  out  upon 
her  lap,  addressed  her  thus : 

"  These  wounds  are  from  the  Romans.  Revive  the  childj 
and  you  shall  be  rewarded  from  the  spoils  of  Rome." 


18  -aotonina;  or,  the  pall  of  romb. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !"  chuckled  the  crone ;  "  Hernianric  is  an  il- 
lustrious warrior,  and  shall  be  obeyed.  Hermanric  is  great, 
for  his  arm  can  slay ;  but  Brunechild  is  greater  than  he,  for 
her  cunning  can  cure !" 

As  if  anxious  to  verify  this  boast  before  the  warrior's 
eyes,  the  old  woman  immediately  began  the  preparation  of 
the  necessary  dressings  from  her  store  of  herbs ;  but  Her- 
manric waited  not  to  be  a  witness  of  her  skill.  With  one 
final  look  at  the  pale,  exhausted  child,  he  slowly  descended 
from  the  wagon,  and,  approaching  Goisvintha,  drew  her  to- 
ward a  sheltered  position  near  the  ponderous  vehicle.  Here 
he  seated  himself  by  her  side,  prepared  to  listen  with  the 
deepest  attention  to  her  recital  of  the  scenes  of  terror  and 
suffering  through  which  she  had  so  recently  passed. 

"You,"  she  began,  "born  while  our  nation  was  at  peace; 
transported  from  the  field  of  war  to  those  distant  provinces 
where  tranquillity  still  prevailed;  preserved  throughout  your 
childhood  from  the  chances  of  battle;  advanced  to  the  army 
in  your  youth,  only  when  its  toils  are  past,  and  its  triumphs 
are  already  at  hand — you  alone,  have  escaped  the  miseries 
of  our  people,  to  partake  in  the  glory  of  their  approaching 
revenge. 

"Hardly  had  a  year  passed  since  you  had  been  removed 
from  the  settlements  of  the  Goths  when  I  wedded  Priulf. 
The  race  of  triflers  to  whom  he  was  then  allied,  spite  of  their 
Roman  haughtiness,  deferred  to  him  in  their  councils,  and 
confessed  among  their  legions  that  he  was  brave.  I  saw  my- 
self with  joy  the  wife  of  a  warrior  of  renown  ;  I  believed,  in 
my  pride,  that  I  was  destined  to  be  the  mother  of  a  race  of 
heroes ;  when  suddenly  there  came  news  to  us  that  the  Em- 
peror Theodosius  was  dead.  Then  followed  anarchy  among 
the  people  of  the  soil,  and  outrages  on  the  liberties  of  their 
allies,  the  Goths.  Ere  long,  the  call  to  arms  arose  among 
our  nation.  Soon  our  wagons  of  war  were  rolled  across  the 
frozen  Danube;  our  soldiers  quitted  the  Roman  camp;  our 
husbandmen  took  their  weapons  from  their  cottage  walls; 
we  that  were  women  prepared  with  our  children  to  follow 
our  husbands  to  the  field  ;  and  Alaric,  the  king,  came  forth 
as  the  leader  of  our  hosts. 

J  ■  "We"  marched  upon  the  territories  of  the  Greeks.     But 
how  shall  I  tell  you  of  the  events  of  those  years  of  war  that 


antonika;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  19 

followed  our  invasion ;  of  the  glory  of  our  victories ;  of  the 
hardships  of  our  defenses ;  of  the  miseries  of  our  retreats ; 
of  the  hunger  that  we  vanquished ;  of  the  diseases  that  we 
endured ;  of  the  shameful  peace  that .  was  finally  ratified, 
against  the  wishes  of  our  king !  How  shall  I  tell  of  all  this, 
when  my  thoughts  are  on  the  massacre  from  which  I  have 
just  escaped — when  those  first  evils,  though  once  remem- 
bered in  anguish,  are,  even  now,  forgotten  in  the  superior 
horrors  that  ensued ! 

"  The  truce  was  made.  Alaric  departed  with  the  remnant 
of  his  army,  and  encamped  at  ^mona,  on  the  confines  of 
that  land  which  he  had  already  invaded,  and  which  he  is 
now  prepared  to  conquer.  Between  our  king  and  Stilicho, 
the  general  of  the  Romans,  passed  many  messages,  for  the 
leaders  disputed  on  the  terras  of  the  peace  that  should  be 
finally  ordained.  Meanwhile,  as  an  earnest  of  the  Gothic 
faith,  bands  of  our  warriors,  and  among  them  Priulf,  were 
dispatched  into  Italy  to  be  allies  once  more  of  the  legions 
of  Rome,  and  with  them  they  took  their  wives  and  their 
children,  to  be  detained  as  hostages  in  the  cities  throughout 
the  land. 

"I  and  my  children  were  conducted  to  Aquileia.  In  a 
dwelling  within  the  city  we  were  lodged  with  our  posses- 
sions. It  was  night  when  I  took  leave  of  Priulf,  my  hus- 
band, at  the  gates.  I  watched  him  as  he  departed  with  the 
array,  and,  when  the  darkness  hid  him  from  ray  eyes,  I  re- 
entered the  town ;  from  which  I  am  the  only  woraan  of  our 
nation  who  has  escaped  alive." 

As  she  pronounced  these  last  words,  Goisvintha's  man- 
ner, which  had  hitherto  been  calm  and  collected,  began  to 
change ;  she  paused  abruptly  in  her  narrative,  her  head  sunk 
upon  her  breast,  her  frame  quivered  as  if  convulsed  with  vio- 
lent agony.  When  she  turned  toward  Hermanric,  after  an 
interval  of  silence,  to  address  him  again,  the  same  raalignant 
expression  lowered  over  her  countenance  that  had  appeared 
on  it  when  she  presented  to  him  her  wounded  child ;  her 
voice  became  broken,  hoarse,  and  unferainine;  and  pressing 
closely  to  the  young  man's  side,  she  laid  her  trembling  fin- 
gers on  his  arm,  as  if  to  bespeak  his  most  undivided  atten- 
tion. !  !^ 

"Time  grew  pn,"-she  continued,  "and  still  there  came  no 


20  antonina;  oe,  the  fall  of  eomk. 

tidings  that  the  peace  was  finally  secured.  "We,  that  were 
hostages,  lived  separate  from  the  people  of  the  town ;  for 
we  felt  enmity  toward  each  other  even  then.  In  my  cap- 
tivity there  was  no  employment  for  me,  but  patience — no 
pursuit,  but  hope.  Alone  with  my  children,  I  was  wont  to 
look  forth  over  the  sea,  toward  the  camp  of  our  king;  but 
day  succeeded  to  day,  and  his  warriors  appeared  not  on  the 
plains;  nor  did  Priulf  return  with  the  legions  to  encamp  be- 
fore the  gates  of  the  town.  So  I  mourned  in  my  loneliness; 
for  my  heart  yearned  toward  the  homes  of  my  peojjle ;  I 
longed  once  more  to  look  upon  my  husband's  face,  and  to 
behold  again  the  ranks  of  our  warriors,  and  the  majesty  of 
their  battle  array. 

"  But  already,  when  the  great  day  of  despair  was  quickly 
drawing  near,  a  bitter  outrage  was  preparing  for  me  alone. 
The  men  who  had  hitherto  watched  us  were  changed,  and 
of  the  number  of  the  new  guards  was  one  who  cast  on  me 
the  eyes  of  lust.  Night  after  night  he  poured  his  entreaties 
into  my  unwilling  ear ;  for,  in  his  vanity  and  shamelessness, 
he  believed  that  I,  who  was  Gothic  and  the  wife  of  a  Goth, 
might  be  won  by  him  whose  parentage  was  but  Roman ! 
Soon,  from  prayers  he  rose  to  threats;  and,  one  night,  ap- 
pearing before  me  with  smiles,  he  cried  out — that  Stilicho, 
whose  desire  was  to  make  peace  with  the  Goths,  had  suf- 
fered, for  his  devotion  to  our  people,  the  penalty  of  death ; 
that  a  time  of  ruin  was  approaching  for  us  all ;  and  that  he 
alone — whom  I  despised — could  preserve  me  from  the  anger 
of  Rome.  As  he  ceased,  he  approached  me ;  but  I,  who  had 
been  in  many  battle-fields,  felt  no  dread  at  the  prospect  of 
war ;  and  I  spurned  him  with  laughter  from  my  presence. 

"Then,  for  a  few  nights  more,  my  enemy  approached  me 
not  again.  Until,  one  evening,  as  I  sat  on  the  terrace  be- 
fore the  house,  with  the  child  that  you  have  beheld,  a  hel- 
met-crest suddenly  fell  at  my  feet,  and  a  voice  cried  to  me 
from  the  garden  beneath,  *  Priulf,  thy  husband,  has  been 
slain  in  a  quarrel  by  the  soldiers  of  Rome !  Already  the 
legions  with  whom  he  served  are  on  their  way  to  the  town ; 
for  a  massacre  of  the  hostages  is  ordained.  Speak  but  the 
word,  and  I  can  save  thee  even  yet !' 

"  1  looked  on  the  crest.  It  was  bloody,  and  it  was  his! 
For  an  instant  my  heart  writhed  within  me,  as  I  thought  on 


antonina;  ok,  the  fall  of  rome.  21 

ray  warrior  whom  I  had  loved  !  Then,  as  I  heard  the  mes- 
senger of  death  retire,  cursing,  from  his  hirking-place  in  the 
garden,  I  recollected  that  now  my  children  had  none  but 
their  mother  to  defend  them ;  and  that  peril  was  preparing 
for  them  from  the  enemies  of  their  race.  Besides  the  little 
one  in  my  arms,  I  had  two  that  were  sleeping  in  the  house. 
As  I  looked  round,  bewildered  and  in  despair,  to  see  if  a 
chance  were  left  us  to  escape,  there  rang  through  the  even- 
ing stillness  the  sound  of  a  trumpet ;  and  the  tramp  of  arm- 
ed men  was  audible  in  the  street  beneath.  Then,  from  all 
quarters  of  the  town,  rose,  as  one  sudden  sound,  the  shrieks 
of  women  and  the  yells  of  men.  Already,  as  I  rushed  to- 
ward my  children's  beds,  the  fiends  of  Rome  had  mount- 
ed the  stairs,  and  waved  in  bloody  triumph  their  reeking 
swords !  I  gained  the  steps ;  and  as  I  looked  up,  they  flung 
down  at  me  the  body  of  my  youngest  child.  Oh,  Herman- 
ric !  Hermanric !  it  was  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most 
beloved !  What  the  priests  say  that  God  should  be  to  us, 
that,  the  fairest  one  of  my  offspring,  was  to  me !  As  I  saw 
it,  mutilated  and  dead — I,  who  but  an  hour  before  had  hush- 
ed it  on  my  bosom  to  rest!  —  my  courage  forsook  me,  and 
when  the  murderers  advanced  on  me,  I  staggered  and  fell. 
I  felt  the  sword -point  enter  my  neck;  I  saw  the  dagger 
gleam  over  the  child  in  my  arms;  I  heard  the  death-shriek 
of  the  last  victim  above ;  and  then  my  senses  failed  me,  and 
I  could  listen  and  move  no  more ! 

"Long  must  I  have  lain  motionless  at  the  foot  of  those 
fatal  stairs ;  for  when  I  awoke  from  my  trance,  the  noises  in 
the  city  were  hushed  ;  and  from  her  place  in  the  firmament 
the  moon  shone  softly  into  the  deserted  house,  I  listened, 
to  be  certain  that  I  was  alone  with  my  murdered  children. 
No  sound  was  in  the  dwelling ;  the  assassins  had  departed, 
believing  that  their  labor  of  blood  was  ended  when  I  fell 
beneath  their  swords;  and  I  was  able  to  crawl  forth  in  se- 
curity, and  to  look  my  last  upon  my  offspring  that  the 
Romans  had  slain.  The  child  that  I  held  to  my  breast  still 
breathed.  I  staunched  with  some  fragments  of  my  garment 
the  wounds  that  he  had  received,  and  laying  him  gently  by 
the  stairs — in  the  moonlight,  so  that  I  might  see  him  when 
he  moved — I  groped  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall  for  my  first 
murdered  and  my  last  born;  for  that  youngest  and  fairest 


22  AOT-ONINA;    or,  the  fall  of  ROME; 

one  of  my  oflfspving,  whom  they  had  slaughtered  before  my 
eyes !  When  I  touched  the  corpse,  it  was  wet  with  blood ; 
I  felt  its  face,  and  it  was  cold  beneath  my  hands ;  I  raised 
its  body  in  my  arms,  and  its  limbs  already  were  rigid  in 
death !  Then  I  thought  of  the  eldest  child,  who  lay  dead 
in  the  chamber  above.  But  my  strength  was  failing  me 
fast.  I  had  an  infant  who  might  yet  be  preserved ;  and  I 
knew  that,  if  morning  dawned  on  me  in  the  house,  all  chances 
of  escape  were  lost  forever.  So,  though  my  heart  was  cold 
within  me  at  leaving  my  child's  corpse  to  the  mercy  of  the 
Romans,  I  took  up  the  dead  and  the  wounded  one  in  my 
arms,  and  went  forth  into  the  garden,  and  thence  toward 
the  seaward  quarter  of  the  town. 

"I  passed  through  the  forsaken  streets.  Sometimes  I 
stumbled  against  the  body  of  a  child — sometimes  the  moon- 
light showed  me  the  death-pale  face  of  some  woman  of  my 
nation  whom  I  had  loved,  stretched  upward  to  the  sky; 
but  I  still  advanced  until  I  gained  the  wall  of  the  town,  and 
heard  on  the  other  side  the  waters  of  the  river  running  on- 
ward to  the  port  of  Aquileia  and  the  sea. 

"I  looked  around.  The  gates  I  knew  were  guarded  and 
closed.  By  the  wall  was  the  only  prospect  of  escape ;  but 
its  top  was  high  and  its  sides  were  smooth,  when  I  felt 
them  with  my  hands.  Despairing  and  weaned,  I  laid  my 
burdens  down  where  they  were  hidden  by  the  shade,  and 
walked  forward  a  few  paces ;  for  to  remain  still  was  a  tor- 
ment that  I  could  not  endure.  At  a  short  distance  I  saw 
a  soldier  sleeping  against  the  wall  of  a  house.  By  his  side 
was  a  ladder  placed  against  the  window.  As  I  looked  up, 
I  beheld  the  head  of  a  corpse  resting  on  its  top.  The  vic- 
tim must  have  been  lately  slain,  for  her  blood  still  dripped 
slowly  down  into  an  empty  wine-pot  that  stood  within  the 
soldier's  reach.  When  I  saw  the  ladder,  hope  revived  with- 
in me.  I  removed  it  to  the  wall — I  mounted  and  laid  my 
dead  child  on  the  great  stones  at  its  top  —  I  returned,  and 
placed  my  wounded  boy  by  the  corpse.  Slowly,  and  with 
many  efforts,  I  dragged  the  ladder  upward,  until  from  its 
own  weight  one  end  fell  to  the  ground  on  the  other  side. 
As  I  had  arisen  so  I  descended.  In  the  sand  of  the  river 
bank  I  scraped  a  hole,  and  buried  there  the  corpse  of  the 
infant  j  for  I  could  carry  the  weight  of  two  no  longer.     Then, 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  home.  23 

with  ray  wounded  child,  I  reached  some  caverns  that  lay 
onward  near  the  sea-shore.  There  throughout  the  next  day 
I  lay  hidden  —  alone  with  my  sufferings  of  body,  and  my 
affliction  of  heart  —  until  the  night  came  on,  when  I  set 
forth  on  my  journey  to  the  mountains ;  for  I  knew  that  at 
^mona,  in  the  camp  of  the  warriors  of  my  people,  lay  the 
only  refuge  that  was  left  to  me  on  earth.  Feebly  and  slow- 
ly, hiding  by  day  and  traveling  by  night,  I  kept  on  my  way 
until  I  gained  that  lake  among  the  rocks,  where  the  guards 
of  the  army  came  forward  and  rescued  me  from  death." 

She  ceased.  Throughout  the  latter  portion  of  her  nar- 
rative, her  demeanor  had  been  calm  and  sad ;  and  as  she 
dwelt,  with  the  painful  industry  of  grief,  over  each  minute 
circumstance  connected  with  the  bereavements  she  had  sus- 
tained, her  voice  softened  to  those  accents  of  quiet  mourn- 
fulness  which  make  impressive  the  most  simple  words,  and 
render  musical  the  most  unsteady  tones.  It  seemed  as  if 
those  tenderer  and  kinder  emotions  which  the  attractions 
of  her  offspring  had  once  generated  in  her  character  had, 
at  the  bidding  of  memory,  become  revivified  in  her  manner, 
while  she  lingered  over  the  recital  of  their  deaths.  For  a 
brief  space  of  time  she  looked  fixedly  and  anxiously  upon 
the  countenance  of  Hermanric,  which  was  half  averted  from 
her,  and  expressed  a  fierce  and  revengeful  gloom  that  sat  un- 
naturally on  its  noble  lineaments.  Then,  turning  from  him, 
she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  made  no  effort  more 
to  attract  him  to  attention  or  incite  him  to  reply. 

This  solemn  silence  kept  by  the  bereaved  woman  and  the 
brooding  man  had  lasted  but  a  few  minutes,  when  a  harsh, 
trembling  voice  was  heard  from  the  top  of  the  wagon  call- 
ing at  intervals,  "  Hermanric !  Hermanric !" 

At  first  the  young  man  remained  unmoved  by  those  dis- 
cordant and  repulsive  tones.  They  repeated  his  name,  how- 
ever, so  often  and  so  perseveringly,  that  he  noticed  them 
ere  long,  and,  rising  suddenly,  as  if  impatient  of  the  inter- 
ruption, advanced  toward  the  side  of  the  wagon  from  which, 
the  mysterious  summons  appeared  to  come. 

As  he  looked  up  toward  the  vehicle  the  voice  ceased;  and 
he  saw  that  the  old  woman  to  whom  he  had  confided  the 
child  was  the  person  who  had  called  him  so  hurriedly  but 
a  few  moments  before.     Her  tottering  body,  clothed  in  bear- 


24  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  PALL  OF  ROMB. 

skins,  was  bent  forward  over  a  large  triangular  shield  of 
polished  brass,  on  which  she  leaned  her  lank,  shriveled  arms. 
Her  head  shook  with  a  tremulous,  palsied  action  —  a  leer, 
half  smile,  half  grimace,  distended  her  withered  lips,  and 
lightened  her  sunken  eyes.  Sinister,  cringing,  repulsive; 
her  face  livid  with  the  reflection  from  the  weapon  that  was 
her  support,  and  her  figure  scarce  human  in  the  rugged  gar- 
ments that  encompassed  its  gaunt  proportions,  she  seemed 
a  deformity  set  up  by  evil  spirits  to  mock  the  majesty  of 
the  human  form — an  embodied  satire  on  all  that  is  most  de- 
plorable in  infirmity  and  most  disgusting  in  age. 

The  instant  she  discerjied  Hermanric,  she  stretched  her 
body  out  still  farther  over  the  shield,  and,  pointing  to  the 
interior  of  the  wagon,  muttered  softly  4,hat  one  fearful  and 
expressive  word — dead  ! 

Without  waiting  for  any  further  explanation,  the  young 
Goth  mounted  the  vehicle,  and  gaining  the  old  woman's 
side,  saw  stretched  on  her  collection  of  herbs — beautiful  in 
the  sublime  and  melancholy  stillness  of  death — the  corpse 
of  Goisvintha's  last  child. 

"  Is  Hermanric  wroth  ?"  whined  the  hag,  quailing  before 
the  steady,  rebuking  glance  of  the  young  man.  "  When  I 
said  that  Brunechild  was  greater  than  Hermanric,  I  lied. 
It  is  Hermanric  that  is  most  powerful !  See,  the  dressings 
were  placed  on  the  wounds ;  and,  though  the  child  has  died, 
shall  not  the  treasures  that  were  promised  me  be  mine?  I 
have  done  what  I  could,  but  my  cunning  begins  to  desert 
me,  for  I  am  old  —  old  —  old  !  I  have  seen  my  generation 
pass  away !     Aha !  I  am  old,  Hermanric ;  I  am  old  !" 

When  the  young  warrior  looked  on  the  child,  he  saw  that 
the  hag  had  spoken  truth,  and  that  the  victim  had  died  from 
no  fault  of  hers.  Pale  and  serene,  the  countenance  of  the 
boy  showed  how  tranquil  had  been  his  death.  The  dress- 
ings had  been  skillfully  composed  and  carefully  applied  to 
his  wounds,  but  suffering  and  privation  had  annihilated  the 
feebleness  of  human  resistance  in  their  march  toward  the 
last  dread  goal ;  and  the  treachery  of  Imperial  Rome  had 
once  more  triumphed  as  was  its  wont,  and  triumphed  over  a 
child ! 

As  Hermanric  descended  with  the  corpse,  Goisvintha  was 
the  first  object  that  met  his  eyes  when  he  alighted  on  the 


axtonina;   or,  the  fall  of  bome.  25 

ground.  The  mother  received  from  him  the  lifeless  burden 
without  an  exclamation  or  a  tear.  That  emanation  from  her 
former  and  kinder  self  which  had  been  produced  by  the 
closing  recital  of  her  sufferings  was,  henceforth,  at  the  signal 
of  her  last  child's  death,  extinguished  in  her  forever ! 

"  His  wounds  had  crippled  him,"  said  the  young  man, 
gloomily.  "He  could  never  have  fought  wnth  the  warriors! 
Our  ancestors  slew  themselves  when  they  were  no  longer 
vigorous  for  the  fight.     It  is  better  that  he  has  died  !" 

"Vengeance!"  gasped  Goisvintha,  pressing  up  closely  to 
his  side.  "  We  will  have  vengeance  for  the  massacre  of 
Aquileia!  When  blood  is  streaming  in  the  palaces  of  Rome, 
remember  my  murdered  cliildren,  and  hasten  not  to  sheathe 
thy  sword  !" 

At  this  instant,  as  if  to  rouse  still  further  the  fierce  de- 
termination that  appeared  already  in  the  face  of  the  young 
Goth,  the  voice  of  Alaric  was  heard  commanding  the  army 
to  advance.  Hermanric  started,  and  drew  the  panting 
woman  after  him  to  the  resting-place  of  the  king.  There, 
armed  at  all  points,  and  rising,  by  his  superior  stature,  high 
above  the  throng  around  him,  stood  the  dreaded  captain  of 
the  Gothic  hosts.  His  helmet  was  raised,  so  as  to  display 
his  clear  blue  eyes  gleaming  over  the  multitude  around 
him:  he  pointed  with  his  sword  in  the  direction  of  Italy; 
and  as,  rank  by  rank,  the  men  started  to  their  arms,  and  pre- 
pared exultingly  for  tlie  march,  his  lips  parted  with  a  smile 
of  triumph,  and  ere  he  moved  to  accompany  them  he  spoke 
thus: 

"  Wai'riors  of  the  Goths,  our  halt  is  a  short  one  among 
the  mountains;  but  let  not  the  weary  repine,  for  the  glo- 
rious resting-place  that  awaits  our  labors  is  the  City  of 
Rome !  The  curse  of  Odin,  when  in  the  infancy  of  our  na- 
tion he  retired  before  the  myriads  of  the  Empire,  it  is  our 
privilege  to  fulfill  !  That  future  destruction,  which  he  de- 
nounced against  Rome,  it  is  ours  to  effect !  Remember  your 
hostages,  that  the  Romans  have  slain ;  your  possessions,  that 
the  Romans  have  seized ;  your  trust,  that  the  Romans  have 
betrayed  !  Remember  that  I,  your  king,  have  within  me 
that  supernatural  impulse  which  never  deceives,  and  which 
calls  to  me  in  a  voice  of  encouragement — Advance,  and  the 
Empire  is  thine !    Assemble  the  warriors,  and  the  City  of  the 

2 


26  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF    ROME. 

World  shall  be  delivered  to  the  conquering  Goths !  Let  us 
onward  without  delay  !  Our  prey  awaits  us  !  Our  triumph 
is  near !     Our  vengeance  is  at  hand  !" 

He  paused ;  and  at  that  moment  the  trumpet  gave  signal 
for  the  march. 

"  Up !  up !"  cried  Hermanric,  seizing  Goisvintha  by  the 
arm,  and  pointing  to  the  wagon,  which  had  already  begun 
to  move;  "make  ready  for  the  journey  !  I  will  charge  my- 
self with  the  burial  of  the  child.  Yet  a  few  days  and  our 
encampment  may  be  before  Aquileia.  Be  patient,  and  I 
will  avenge  thee  in  the  palaces  of  Rome !" 

The  mighty  mass  moved.  The  multitude  stretched  forth 
over  the  barren  ground;  and, even  now, the  warriors  in  front 
of  the  army  might  be  seen  by  those  in  the  rear  mounting 
the  last  range  of  passes  that  lay  between  the  plains  of  Italy 
and  the  Goths. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    COURT. 

The  traveler  who  so  far  departs  from  the  ordinary  track 
of  tourists  in  modern  Italy  as  to  visit  the  city  of  Ravenna, 
remembers  with  astonishment,  as  he  treads  its  silent  and  mel- 
ancholy streets,  and  beholds  vineyards  and  marshes  spread 
over  an  extent  of  four  miles  between  the  Adriatic  and  the 
town,  that  this  place,  now  half  deserted,  was  once  the  most 
populous  of  Roman  fortresses ;  and  that  where  fields  and 
woods  now  present  themselves  to  his  eyes,  the  fleets  of  the 
Empire  once  rode  securely  at  anchor,  and  the  merchant  of 
Rome  disembarked  his  precious  cargoes  at  his  warehouse 
door. 

As  the  power  of  Rome  declined,  the  Adriatic,  by  a  strange 
fatality,  began  to  desert  the  fortress,  whose  defense  it  had 
hitherto  secured.  Coeval  with  the  gradual  degeneracy  of 
the  people  was  the  gradual  withdrawal  of  the  ocean  from 
the  city  walls ;  until,  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  century, 
a  grove  of  pines  already  appeared  where  the  port  of  Augus- 
tus once  existed. 

At  the  period  of  our  story — though  the  sea  had  even  then 


ANTONTN A  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  27 

receded  perceptibly — the  ditches  round  the  walls  were  yet 
tilled,  and  the  canals  still  ran  through  the  city,  in  much  the 
same  manner  as  they  intersect  Venice  at  the  present  time. 

On  the  morning  that  we  are  about  to  describe,  the  au- 
tumn had  advanced  some  days  since  the  events  mentioned 
in  the  preceding  chapter.  Although  the  sun  was  now  high 
in  the  eastern  horizon,  the  restlessness  produced  by  the  heat 
emboldened  a  few  idlers  of  Ravenna  to  brave  the  sultriness 
of  the  atmosphere,  in  the  vain  hope  of  being  greeted  by  a 
breeze  from  the  Adriatic,  as  they  mounted  the  seaward  ram- 
parts of  the  town.  On  attaining  their  destined  elevation, 
these  sanguine  citizens  turned  their  faces  with  fruitless  and 
despairing  industry  toward  every  point  of  the  compass,  but 
no  breath  of  air  came  to  reward  their  perseverance.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  thoroughly  suggestive  of  the  undimin- 
ished universality  of  the  heat  than  the  view,  in  every  di- 
rection, from  the  position  they  then  occupied.  The  stone 
houses  of  the  city  behind  them  glowed  with  a  vivid  bright- 
ness overpowering  to  the  strongest  eyes.  The  light  curtains 
hung  motionless  over  the  lonely  windows.  No  shadows  va- 
ried the  brilliant  monotony  of  the  walls,  or  softened  the  live- 
ly glitter  on  the  waters  of  the  fountains  beneath.  Not  a 
ripple  stirred  the  surface  of  the  broad  channel  that  now  re- 
placed the  ancient  harbor.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  unfolded 
the  scorching  sails  of  the  deserted  vessels  at  the  quay.  Over 
the  marshes  in  the  distance  hung  a  hot,  quivering  mist ;  and 
in  the  vineyards,  near  the  town,  not  a  leaf  waved  upon  its 
slender  stem.  On  the  seaward  side  lay,  vast  and  level,  the 
prospect  of  the  burning  sand,  and  beyond  it  the  main  ocean 
— waveless,  torpid,  and  suffused  in  a  flood  of  fierce  bright- 
ness— stretched  out  to  the  cloudless  horizon  that  closed  the 
sunbright  view. 

Within  the  town,  in  those  streets  where  the  tall  houses 
cast  a  deep  shadow  on  the  flag-stones  of  the  road,  the  fig- 
ures of  a  few  slaves  might,  here  and  there,  be  seen  sleeping 
against  the  walls,  or  gossiping  languidly  on  the  faults  of 
their  respective  lords.  Sometimes  an  old  beggar  might  be 
observed  hunting  on  the  well-stocked  preserves  of  his  own 
body  the  lively  vermin  of  the  South.  Sometimes  a  restless 
child  crawled  from  a  door-step  to  paddle  in  the  stagnant 
waters  of  a  kennel ;  but  with  the  exception  of  these  doubt- 


28  anTonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

fill  evidences  of  human  industry  the  prevailing  character- 
istic of  the  few  groups  of  the  lowest  orders  of  the  people 
which  appeared  in  the  streets  was  the  most  listless  and  ut- 
ter indolence.  All  that  gave  splendor  to  the  city  at  other 
hours  of  the  day  was  at  this  period  hidden  from  the  eye. 
The  elegant  courtiers  reclined  in  their  lofty  cliambers ;  tlie 
guards  on  duty  ensconced  themselves  in  angles  of  walls  and 
recesses  of  the  porticoes;  the  graceful  ladies  slumbered  on 
perfumed  couches  in  darkened  rooms;  the  gilded  chariots 
were  shut  into  the  carriage -houses;  the  prancing  horses 
were  confined  in  the  stables ;  and  even  the  wares  in  the 
market-places  were  removed  from  exposure  to  the  sun.  It 
was  clear  that  the  luxurious  inhabitants  of  Ravenna  recog- 
nized no  duties  of  sufficient  importance,  and  no  pleasures  of 
sufficient  attraction,  to  necessitate  the  exposure  of  their  sus- 
ceptible bodies  to  the  noontide  heat. 

To  give  the  reader  some  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
indolent  patricians  of  the  court  loitered  away  their  noon, 
and  to  satisfy,  at  the  same  time,  the  exigencies  attaching  to 
the  conduct  of  this  story,  it  is  requisite  to  quit  the  loung- 
ing-places  of  the  plebeians  in  the  streets  for  the  couches 
of  the  nobles  in  the  emperor's  palace. 

Passing  through  the  massive  entrance  gates,  crossing  the 
vast  hall  of  the  imperial  abode,  with  its  statues,  its  marbles, 
and  its  guards  in  attendance,  and  thence  ascending  the  no- 
ble staircase,  the  first  object  that  might  on  this  occasion 
have  attracted  the  observer,  when  he  gained  the  approach- 
es to  the  private  apartments,  was  a  door  at  an  extremity  of 
the  corridor,  richly  carved,  and  standing  half  open.  At  this 
spot  were  grouped  some  fifteen  or  twenty  individuals,  who 
conversed  by  signs,  and  maintained  in  all  their  movements 
the  most  decorous  and  complete  silence.  Sometimes,  one 
of  the  party  stole  on  tjptoe  to  the  door,  and  looked  cau- 
tiously through,  returning  almost  instantaneously,  and  ex- 
pressing to  his  next  neighbor,  by  various  grimaces,  his  im- 
mense interest  in  the  sight  he  had  just  beheld.  Occasion- 
ally, there  came  from  this  mysterious  chamber  sounds  re- 
sembling the  cackling  of  poultry;  varied,  now  and  then,  by 
a  noise  like  the  falling  of  a  shower  of  small,  light  substances 
upon  a  hard  floor.  Whenever  these  sounds  were  audible, 
the  members  of  the  party  outside  the  door  looked  round 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  29 

upon  each  other  and  smiled — some  sarcastically,  some  tri- 
umphantly. A  few  among  these  patient  expectants  grasped 
rolls  of  vellum  in  their  hands;  the  rest  held  nosegays  of 
rare  flowers,  or  supported  in  their  arms  small  statues  and 
pictures  in  mosaic.  Of  their  number,  some  were  paintere 
and  poets;  some  orators  and  philosophers;  and  some  statu- 
aries and  musicians.  Among  such  a  motley  assemblage  of 
professions,  remarkable  in  all  ages  of  the  world  for  fostering 
in  their  votaries  the  vice  of  irritability,  it  may  seem  strange 
that  so  quiet  and  orderly  a  behavior  should  exist  as  that 
just  described.  But  it  is  to  be  observed  that  in  attending 
at  the  palace  these  men  of  genius  made  sure  at  least  of  out- 
ward unanimity  among  their  ranks,  by  coming  equally  pre- 
pared with  one  accomplishment;  and  equally  animated  by 
one  hope,  they  waited  to  employ  a  common  agent — flattery, 
to  attain  a  common  end — gain. 

The  chamber  thus  sacred,  even  from  the  intrusion  of  in- 
tellectual inspiration,  although  richly  ornamented,  was  of  no 
remarkable  extent.  At  other  times  the  eye  might  have 
wandered  with  delight  on  the  exquisite  plants  and  flowers, 
scattered  profusely  over  a  noble  terrace,  to  which  a  second 
door  in  the  apartment  conducted ;  but,  at  the  present  mo- 
ment, the  employment  of  the  occupant  of  the  room  was  of 
so  extraordinary  a  nature,  that  the  most  attentive  observa- 
tion must  have  missed  all  the  inferior  characteristics  of  the 
place,  to  settle  immediately  on  its  inhabitant  alone. 

In  the  midst  of  a  large  flock  of  poultry,  which  seemed 
strangely  misplaced  on  a  floor  of  marble  and  under  a  gild- 
ed roof,  stood  a  pale,  thin,  debilitated  youth,  magniflcently 
clothed,  and  holding  in  his  hand  a  silver  vase  filled  with 
grain,  which  he  ever  and  anon  distributed  to  the  cackling 
multitude  at  his  feet.  Nothing  could  be  more  pitiably  ef- 
feminate than  the  appearance  of  this»yoi.ng  man.  His  eyes 
were  heavy  and  vacant ;  his  forehead  low  and  retiring ;  his 
cheeks  sallow  ;  and  his  form  curved  as  if  with  a  premature 
old  age.  An  unmeaning  smile  dilated  his  thin,  colorless 
lips;  and  as  he  looked  down  on  his  strange  favorites,  be  oc- 
casionally whispered  to  them  a  few  broken  expressions  of 
endearment,  almost  infontine  in  their  simplicity.  His  whole 
soul  seemed  to  be  engrossed  by  the  labor  of  distributing  his 
grain,  and  he  followed  the  ditterent  movements  of  the  poul- 


80  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

try  with  an  earnestness  of  attention  which  seemed  almost 
idiotic  in  its  ridiculous  intensity.  If  it  be  asked,  why  a  per- 
son so  contemptible  as  this  solitary  youth  has  been  intro- 
duced with  so  much  care,  and  described  with  so  much  mi- 
nuteness, it  must  be  answered  that,  though  destined  to  form 
no  important  figure  in  this  work,  he  played,  from  his  posi- 
tion, a  remarkable  part  in  the  great  drama  on  which  it  is 
founded  —  for  this  feeder  of  chickens  was  no  less  a  person 
than  Honorius,  Emperor  of  Rome, 

It  is  the  very  imbecility  of  this  man,  at  such  a  time  as 
that  we  now  write  on,  which  invests  his  character  with  a 
fearful  interest  in  the  eye  of  posterity.  In  himself  the  im- 
personation of  the  meanest  vices  inherent  in  the  vicious  civ- 
ilization of  his  period,  to  his  feebleness  was  accorded  the 
terrible  responsibility  of  liberating  the  long-prisoned  storm, 
who§e  elements  we  have  attempted  to  describe  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter.  With  just  intellect  enough  to  be  capri- 
cious, and  just  determination  enough  to  be  mischievous,  he 
was  an  instrument  fitted  for  the  uses  of  every  ambitious  vil- 
lain who  could  succeed  in  gaining  his  ear.  To  flatter  his 
puerile  tyranny,  the  infatuated  intriguers  of  the  court  re- 
warded the  heroic  Stilicho  for  the  rescue  of  his  country,  with 
the  penalty  of  death,  and  defrauded  Alaric  of  the  moderate 
concessions  that  they  had  solemnly  pledged  themselves  to 
perform.  To  gratify  his  vanity,  he  was  paraded  in  triumph 
through  the  streets  of  Rome,  for  a  victory  that  others  had 
gained.  To  pander  to  his  arrogance,  by  an  exhibition  of  the 
vilest  privilege  of  that  power  which  had  been  intrusted  to 
him  for  good,  the  massacre  of  the  helpless  hostages,  confided 
by  Gothic  honor  to  Roman  treachery,  was  unhesitatingly  or- 
dained ;  and,  finally,  to  soothe  the  turbulence  of  his  unman- 
ly fears,  the  last  act  of  his  unscrupulous  councilors,  ere  the 
Empire  fell,  was  to  autiiorize  his  abandoning  his  people  in 
the  hour  of  peril,  careless  who  suffered  in  defenseless  Rome, 
while  he  was  secure  in  fortified  Ravenna,  Such  was  the 
man  under  whom  the  mightiest  of  the  world's  structures  was 
doomed  to  totter  to  its  fall !  Such  was  the  figure  destined 
to  close  a  scene  which  Time  and  Glory  had  united  to  hallow 
and  adorn  !  Raised  and  supported  by  a  superhuman  daring, 
that  invested  the  nauseous  horrors  of  incessant  bloodshed 
with  a  rude  and  appalling  magnificence,  the  mistress  of  na- 


ANTONIN'A  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  31 

tions  was  now  fated  to  sink  by  the  most  ignoble  of  defeats, 
under  the  most  abject  of  tremblers.  For  this  had  the  rough 
old  Kingdom  shaken  off"  its  enemies  by  swarms  from  its  vig- 
orous arms!  For  this  had  the  doubtful  virtues  of  the  Re- 
public, and  the  perilous  magnificence  of  the  Empire,  per- 
plexed and  astonished  the  world  !  In  such  a  conclusion  as 
Honorius,  ended  the  dignified  barbarities  of  a  Brutus,  the 
polished  splendors  of  an  Augustus,  the  unearthly  atrocities 
of  a  Xero,  and  the  immortal  virtues  of  a  Trajan  I  Vainly, 
through  the  toiling  ages,  over  the  ruin  of  her  noblest  hearts, 
and  the  prostitution  of  her  grandest  intellects,  had  Rome 
stridden  pitilessly  onward,  grasping  at  the  shadow — Glory; 
the  fiat  liad  now  gone  forth  that  doomed  her  to  possess  her- 
self finally  of  the  substance — Shame  ! 

When  the  imperial  trilier  had  exhausted  bis  store  of  grain, 
and  satisfied  the  cravings  of  his  voracious  favorites,  he  was 
relieved  of  his  silver  vase  by  two  attendants.  The  flock  of 
poultry  was  then  ushered  out  at  one  door,  while  the  flock 
of  geniuses  was  ushered  in  at  the  other. 

Leaving  the  emperor  to  cast  his  languid  eyes  over  objects 
of  art  for  which  he  had  no  admiration,  and  to  open  his  un- 
willing ears  to  panegyrical  orations  for  which  he  had  no 
comprehension,  we  proceed  to  introduce  the  reader  to  an 
apartment  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  palace,  in  which  are 
congregated  all  the  beauty  and  elegance  of  his  court. 

Imagine  a  room  two  hundred  feet  long  and  proportion- 
ably  broad.  Its  floor  is  mosaic,  wrought  into  the  loveliest 
patterns.  Its  sides  are  decorated  with  immense  pillars  of 
variegated  marble,  the  recesses  formed  by  which  are  occu- 
pied by  statues,  all  arranged  in  exquisite  variety  of  attitude, 
so  as  to  appear  to  be  offering  to  whoever  approaches  them 
the  rare  flowers  which  it  is  the  duty  of  the  attendants  to 
place  in  their  hands.  The  ceiling  is  painted  in  fresco,  in  pat- 
terns and  colors  harmonizing  with  those  on  the  mosaic  floor. 
The  cornices  are  of  silver,  and  decorated  with  mottoes  from 
the  amatory  poets  of  the  day,  the  letters  of  which  are  formed 
by  precious  stones.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  is  a  fountain 
throwing  up  streams  of  perfumed  Avater,  and  surrounded  by 
golden  aviaries,  containing  birds  of  all  sizes  and  nations. 
Three  large  windows,  placed  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the 
apartment,  look  out  upon  the  Adriatic,  but  are  covered  at 


32  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

this  hour,  from  the  outside,  with  silk  curtains  of  a  delicate 
greeu  shade,  which  cast  a  soft,  luxurious  light  over  every 
object,  but  are  so  thinly  woven  and  so  skillfully  arranged, 
that  the  slightest  breath  of  air  which  moves  without  finds 
its  way  immediately  to  the  languid  occupants  of  the  court 
waiting-room.  The  number  of  these  individuals  amounts  to 
about  fifty  to  sixty  persons.  By  far  the  larger  half  of  the 
assemblage  are  women.  Their  black  liair,  tastefully  braid- 
ed into  various  forms,  and  adorned  with  flowers  or  precious 
stones,  contrasts  elegantly  with  the  brilliant  whiteness  of 
the  robes  in  which  they  are  for  the  most  part  clothed. 
Some  of  them  are  occupied  in  listlessly  watching  the  move- 
ments of  the  birds  in  the  aviaries ;  others  hold  a  languid  and 
whispered  conversation  with  such  of  the  courtiers  as  hapi>en 
to  be  placed  near  them.  The  men  exhibit  in  their  dresses 
a  greater  variety  of  color,  and  in  their  occupations  a  great- 
er fertility  of  resource  than  the  women.  Their  garments,  of 
the  lightest  rose,  violet,  or  yellow  tints,  diversify  fantastic- 
ally the  monotonous  white  robes  of  their  gentle  compan- 
ions. Of  their  employments,  the  most  conspicuous  are,  play- 
ing on  tlve  lute,  gaming  with  dice,  teasing  their  lap-dogs, 
and  insulting  their  parasites.  Whatever  their  occupation, 
it  is  performed  with  little  attention,  and  less  enthusiasm. 
Some  recline  on  their  couches  with  closed  eyes,  as  if  the  heat 
made  the  labor  of  using  their  organs  of  vision  too  much  for 
them ;  others,  in  the  midst  of  a  conversation,  suddenly  leave 
a  sentence  unfinished,  apparently  incapacitated  by  lassitude 
from  giving  expression  to  the  simplest  ideas.  Every  sight 
in  the  apartment  that  attracts  the  eye,  every  sound  that 
gains  the  ear,  expresses  a  luxurious  repose.  No  brilliant 
light  mars  the  pervading  softness  of  the  atmosphere;  no  vi- 
olent color  materializes  the  light,  etherial  hues  of  the  dresses; 
no  sudden  noises  interrupt  the  fitful  and  plaintive  notes  of 
the  lute,  jar  with  the  soft  twittering  of  the  birds  in  the  avia- 
ries, or  drown  the  still,  regular  melody  of  the  ladies'  voices. 
All  objects,  animate  and  inanimate,  are  in  harmony  with 
each  other.  It  is  a  scene  of  spiritualized  indolence — a  pic- 
ture of  dreamy  beatitude,  in  the  inmost  sanctuary  of  unruf- 
fled repose. 

Amidst  this  assemblage  of  beauty  and  nobility,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  were  rather  to  be  generally  noticed  than  par- 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  33 

ticularly  observed,  there  was,  however,  one  individual  who, 
both  by  the  solitary  occupation  lie  had  chosen  and  his  ac- 
cidental position  in  the  room,  was  personally  remarkable 
among  the  listless  patricians  around  him. 

His  couch  was  placed  nearer  the  window  than  that  of  any 
other  occupant  of  the  chamber.  Some  of  his  indolent  neigh- 
bors— especially  those  of  the  gentler  sex — occasionally  re- 
garded him  with  mingled  looks  of  admiration  and  curiosity; 
but  no  one  approached  him,  or  attempted  to  engage  him  in 
conversation.  A  piece  of  vellum  lay  by  his  side,  on  which, 
from  time  to  time,  he  traced  a  few  words,  and  then  resumed 
his  reclining  position,  apparently  absorbed  in  reflection,  and 
utterly  regardless  of  all  the  occupants — male  and  female — 
of  the  imperial  apartment.  Judging  from  his  general  ap- 
pearance, he  could  scarcely  be  twenty-five  years  of  age.  The 
conformation  of  the  upper  part  of  his  face  was  thoroughly 
intellectual — the  forehead  high,  broad,  and  upright ;  the  eyes 
clear,  penetrating,  and  thoughtful — but  the  lower  part  was, 
on  the  other  hand,  undeniably  sensual.  The  lips,  full  and 
thick,  formed  a  disagreeable  contrast  to  the  delicate  chisel- 
ing of  the  straight  Grecian  nose  ;  while  the  fleshiness  of  the 
chin,  and  the  jovial  redundancy  of  the  cheeks,  were,  in  their 
turn,  utterly  at  variance  with  the  character  of  the  pale,  noble 
forehead,  and  the  expression  of  the  quick,  intelligent  eyes.  In 
stature  he  was  barely  of  the  middle  size ;  but  every  part  of 
his  body  was  so  perfectly  proportioned  that  he  appeared,  in 
any  position,  taller  than  he  really  was.  The  upper  part  of 
his  dress,  thrown  open  from  the  heat,  partly  disclosed  the  fine 
statuesque  formation  of  his  neck  and  chest.  His  ears,  hands, 
and  feet  were  of  that  smallness  and  delicacy  which  is  held 
to  denote  the  aristocracy  of  birth  ;  and  there  was  in  his  man- 
ner that  indescribable  combination  of  unobtrusive  dignity 
and  unaffected  elegance  which  in  all  ages  and  countries,  and 
through  all  changes  of  manners  and  customs,  has  rendered 
the  demeanor  of  its  few  favored  possessors  the  instantaneous 
interpreter  of  their  social  rank. 

While  the  patrician  was  still  occupied  over  his  vellum,  the 
following  conversation  took  place  in  whispers  between  two 
ladies  placed  near  the  situation  he  occupied. 

"Tell  me,  Camilla,"  said  the  eldest  and  stateliest  of  the 
two,  "  who  is  the  courtier  so  occupied  in  composition  ?    I 

2* 


34  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

have  endeavored,  I  know  not  how  often,  to  catch  his  eye; 
but  the  man  will  look  at  nothing  but  his  roll  of  vellum,  or 
the  corners  of  the  room." 

"What!  are  you  so  great  a  stranger  in  Italy  as  not  to 
know  him?"  replied  the  other,  a  lively  girl  of  small,  delicate 
form,  who  fidgeted  with  persevering  restlessness  on  her 
couch,  and  seemed  incapable  of  giving  an  instant's  steady 
attention  to  any  of  the  objects  around  her.  "  By  all  the 
saints,  martyrs,  and  relics  of  my  uncle  the  bishop  !" 

"  Hush  !     You  should  not  swear !" 

"  Not  swear !  Why,  I  am  making  a  new  collection  of 
oaths,  intended  solely  for  ladies'  use !  I  intend  to  set  the 
fashion  of  swearing  by  them  myself!" 

"  But  answer  my  question,  I  beseech  you !  Will  you  nev- 
er learn  to  talk  on  one  subject  at  a  time  ?" 

"Your  question  —  ah,  your  question!  It  was  about  the 
Goths?" 

"  No,  no !  It  was  about  that  man  who  is  incessantly  writ- 
ing, and  will  look  at  nobody.  He  is  almost  as  provoking  as 
Camilla  herself!" 

"  Don't  frown  so  !  That  man,  as  you  call  him,  is  the  Sen- 
ator Vet  ran  io." 

The  lady  started.  It  was  evident  that  Vetranio  had  a 
reputation. 

"  Yes  !"  continued  the  lively  Camilla.  "  That  is  the  ac- 
complished Vetranio ;  but  he  will  be  no  favorite  of  yours, 
for  he  sometimes  swears — swears  by  the  ancient  gods,  too, 
which  is  forbidden !" 

"  He  is  handsome." 

"  Handsome  ?  He  is  beautiful !  Not  a  woman  in  Italy  but 
is  languishing  for  him  !" 

"  I  have  heard  that  he  is  clever." 

"  Who  has  not  ?  He  is  the  author  of  some  of  the  most 
celebrated  sauces  of  the  age.  Cooks  of  all  nations  worship 
him  as  an  oracle.  Then  he  writes  poetry,  and  composes 
music,  and  paints  pictures !  And  as  for  philosophy  —  he 
talks  it  better  than  my  uncle  the  bishop !" 

"  Is  he  rich  ?" 

"Ah !  my  uncle  the  bishop  !— I  must  tell  you  how  I  help- 
ed Vetranio  to  make  a  satire  on  him!  When  I  was  staying 
with  him  at  Rome,  I  used  often  to  see  a  woman  in  a  veil 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME,  35 

taken  across  the  garden  to  his  study  ;  so,  to  perplex  him,  I 
asked  him  who  she  was.  And  he  frowned  and  stammered, 
and  said,  at  first,  that  I  was  disrespectful;  but  he  told  me 
afterward  tliat  she  was  an  Arian  whom  he  was  laboring  to 
convert.  So  I  thought  I  should  like  to  see  how  this  conver- 
sion went  on,  and  I  hid  myself  behind  a  book-case.  But  it 
is  a  profound  secret :  I  tell  it  you  in  confidence." 

"  I  don't  care  to  know  it.     Tell  me  about  Vetranio." 

"  How  ill-natured  you  are  !  Oh  !  I  shall  never  forget  how 
we  laughed  when  I  told  Vetranio  what  I  had  seen  !  He 
took  up  his  writing  materials,  and  made  the  satire  immedi- 
ately. The  next  day  all  Rome  heard  of  it.  My  uncle  was 
speechless  with  rage !  I  believe  he  suspected  me ;  but  he 
gave  up  converting  the  Arian  lady  ;  and — " 

"  I  ask  you  again — is  Vetranio  rich  ?" 

"  Half  Sicily  is  his.  He  has  immense  estates  in  Africa, 
olive-grounds  in  Syria,  and  corn-fields  in  Gaul,  I  was  pres- 
ent at  an  entertainment  he  gave  at  his  villa  in  Sicily.  He 
fitted  up  one  of  his  vessels  from  the  descriptions  of  the  fur- 
nishing of  Cleopatra's  galley,  and  made  his  slaves  swim  after 
us,  as  attendant  Tritons.     Oh  !  it  was  magnificent !" 

"  I  should  like  to  know  him." 

"You  should  see  his  cats!  He  has  a  perfect  legion  of 
them  at  his  villa.  Twelve  slaves  are  employed  to  attend 
on  them.  He  is  mad  about  cats,  and  declares  that  the  old 
Egyptians  were  right  to  worship  them.  He  told  me,  yester- 
day, that  when  his  largest  cat  is  dead,  he  will  canonize  her, 
in  spite  of  the  Christians !  And  then  he  is  so  kind  to  his 
slaves !  They  are  never  whipped  or  punished,  except  when 
they  neglect  or  disfigure  themselves ;  for  Vetranio  will  al- 
low nothing  that  is  ugly  or  dirty  to  come  near  him.  You 
must  visit  his  banqueting-hall  at  Rome.     It  is  perfection!" 

"  But  why  is  he  here '?" 

"  He  has  come  to  Ravenna,  charged  with  some  secret  mes- 
sage from  the  Senate,  and  has  presented  a  rare  breed  of 
chickens  to  that  foolish — " 

"Hush  ;  you  may  be  overheard  !" 

"Well! — to  that  wise  emperor  of  ours!  Ah,  the  palace 
has  been  so  pleasant  since  he  has  been  here !" 

At  this  instant  the  above  dialogue — from  the  frivolity  of 
which  the  universally-learned  readers  of  modern  times  will, 


36  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

we  fear,  recoil  with  contempt — was  interrupted  by  a  move- 
ment ou  the  part  of  its  hero,  which  showed  that  his  occuj>a- 
tion  was  at  an  end.  With  the  elaborate  deliberation  of  a 
man  who  disdains  to  exhibit  himself  as  liable  to  be  hurried 
by  any  mortal  affair,  Yetranio  slowly  folded  up  the  vellum 
he  had  now  filled  with  writing,  and,  depositing  it  in  his 
bosom,  made  a  sign  to  a  slave,  who  happened  to  be  then 
passing  near  him  with  a  dish  of  fruit. 

Having  received  his  message,  the  slave  retired  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  apartment,  and,  beckoning  to  a  man  who  stood 
outside  the  door,  motioned  him  to  approach  Vetranio's  couch. 

This  individual  immediately  hurried  across  the  room,  to 
the  window  where  the  elegant  Roman  awaited  him.  Not 
the  slightest  description  of  him  is  needed ;  for  he  belonged 
to  a  class  with  which  moderns  are  as  well  acquainted  as 
ancients — a  class  which  has  survived  all  changes  of  nations 
and  maimers — a  class  which  came  in  with  the  first  rich  man 
in  the  world,  and  will  only  go  out  with  the  last.  In  a  word, 
he  was  a  parasite. 

He  enjoyed,  however,  one  great  superiority  over  his  mod- 
ern successors.  In  his  day  flattery  was  a  'profession  —  in 
ours  it  has  sunk  to  2,  pursuit. 

"  I  shall  leave  Ravenna  this  evening,"  said  Vetranio. 

The  parasite  made  three  low  bows  and  smiled  ecstatic- 
ally. 

"You  will  order  my  traveling  equipage  to  be  at  the  pal- 
ace gates  an  hour  before  sunset." 

The  parasite  declared  he  should  never  forget  the  honor  of 
the  commission,  and  left  the  room. 

The  sprightly  Camilla,  who  had  overheard  Vetranio's  com- 
mand, jumped  off  her  couch,  as  soon  as  the  parasite's  back 
was  turned,  and,  running  up  to  the  senator,  began  to  re- 
proach him  for  the  determination  he  had  just  formed. 

"Have  you  no  compunction  at  leaving  me  to  the  dullness 
of  this  horrible  palace,  to  satisfy  your  idle  fancy  for  going 
to  Rome  ?"  said  she,  pouting  her  pretty  lip,  and  playing  with 
a  lock  of  the  dark  brown  hair  that  clustered  over  Vetranio's 
brow. 

"Has  the  senator  Vetranio  so  little  regard  for  his  friends 
as  to  leave  them  to  the  mercy  of  the  Goths  ?"  said  another 
lady,  advancing  with  a  winning  smile  to  Camilla's  side. 


A>T0XINA;    or,  the    fall    of    ROME.  37 

"Ah,  those  Goths!"  exclaimed  Vetranio,  turning  to  the 
last  speaker;  "tell  me,  Julia,  is  it  not  reported  that  the  bar- 
barians are  really  marching  into  Italy  ?" 

"  Every  body  has  lieard  of  it.  The  emperor  is  so  discom- 
posed by  the  rumor,  that  he  has  forbidden  the  very  name 
of  the  Goths  to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence  again." 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  Vetranio,  drawing  Camilla  to- 
ward him,  and  playfully  tapping  her  little  dimpled  hand,  "I 
am  in  anxious  expectation  of  the  Goths,  for  I  have  designed 
a  statue  of  Minerva,  for  which  I  can  find  no  model  so  fit  as 
a  woman  of  that  troublesome  nation.  I  am  iiiformed  upon 
good  authority  that  their  limbs  are  colossal,  and  their  sense 
of  propriety  most  obediently  pliable  under  the  discipline  of 
the  purse." 

"  If  the  Goths  supply  you  with  a  model  for  any  thing," 
said  a  courtier  who  had  joined  the  group  while  Vetranio 
was  speaking,  "it  will  be  with  a  representation  of  the  burn- 
ing of  your  palace  at  Rome,  which  they  will  enable  you  to 
paint  in  blood,  from  the  inexhaustible  reservoir  of  your  own 
wounds." 

The  individual  who  uttered  this  last  observation  was  re- 
markable among  the  brilliant  circle  around  him  by  his  ex- 
cessive ugliness.  Urged  by  his  personal  disadvantages,  and 
the  loss  of  all  his  property  at  the  gaming-table,  he  had  lat- 
terly personated  a  character,  the  accomplishments  attached 
to  which  rescued  him,  by  their  disagreeable  originality  in 
that  frivolous  age,  from  oblivion  or  contempt.  He  was  a 
Cynic  philosopher. 

His  remark,  however,  produced  no  other  effect  on  his 
hearers'  serenity  than  to  excite  their  merriment.  Vetranio 
laughed,  Camilla  laughed,  Julia  laughed.  The  idea  of  a 
troop  of  barbarians  ever  being  able  to  burn  a  palace  at 
Rome  was  too  wildly  ridiculous  for  any  one's  gravity ;  and 
as  the  speech  was  repeated  in  other  parts  of  the  room,  in 
spite  of  their  dullness  and  lassitude,  the  whole  court  laughed. 

"  I  know  not  why  I  should  be  amused  at  that  man's  non- 
sense," said  Camilla,  suddenly  becoming  grave,  at  the  very 
crisis  of  a  most  attractive  smile,  "  when  I  am  so  melancholy 
at  the  thought  of  Vetranio's  departure.  What  will  become 
of  me  when  he  is  gone  ?  Alas  !  who  will  be  left  in  the  pal- 
ace to  compose  songs  to  my  beauty  and  music  for  my  lute  ? 


38  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

Who  will  paint  me  as  Venus,  and  tell  me  stories  about  the 
ancient  Egyptians  and  their  cats?  Who  at  the  banquet 
will  direct  what  dishes  I  am  to  choose,  and  what  I  am  to 
reject?  Who?" — and  poor  little  Camilla  stopped  suddenly 
in  her  enumeration  of  the  pleasures  she  was  about  to  lose, 
and  seemed  on  the  point  of  weeping  as  piteously  as  she  had 
been  laughing  rapturously  but  the  instant  before. 

Vetranio  was  touched  —  not  by  the  compliment  to  his 
more  intellectual  powers,  but  by  the  admission  of  his  con- 
vivial supremacy,  as  a  guide  to  the  banquet,  contained  in 
the  latter  part  of  Camilla's  remonstrance.  The  sex  were 
then,  as  now,  culpably  deficient  in  gastronomic  enthusiasm. 
It  was,  therefore,  a  perfect  triumph  to  have  made  a  convert 
to  the  science  of  the  youngest  and  loveliest  of  the  ladies  of 
the  court. 

"If  she  can  gain  leave  of  absence,"  said  the  gratified  sena- 
tor, "Camilla  shall  accompany  me  to  Rome,  and  shall  be 
present  at  the  first  celebration  of  my  recent  discovery  of  a 
Nightingale  Sauce." 

Camilla  was  in  ecstasies.  She  seized  'Vetranio's  cheeks 
between  her  rosy  little  fingers,  kissed  him  as  enthusiastic- 
ally as  a  child  kisses  a  new  toy,  and  darted  gayly  oflT  to  pre- 
pare for  her  departure. 

"Vetranio  would  be  better  employed,"  sneered  the  Cyn- 
ic, "in  inventing  new  salves  for  future  wounds,  than  new 
sauces  for  future  nightingales !  His  carcass  will  be  carved 
by  Gothic  swords  as  a  feast  for  the  worms,  before  his  birds 
are  spitted  with  Roman  skewers  as  a  feast  for  his  guests ! 
Is  this  a  time  for  cutting  statues  and  concocting  sauces? 
Fie  on  the  senators  who  abandon  themselves  to  such  pur- 
suits as  Vetranio's !" 

"  I  have  other  designs,"  replied  the  object  of  all  this  mor- 
al indignation,  looking  with  insulting  indifference  on  the 
Cynic's  repulsive  countenance,  "  which,  fi-om  their  immense 
importance  to  the  world,  must  meet  with  universal  approval. 
The  labor  that  I  have  just  achieved  forms  one  of  a  series  of 
three  projects,  which  I  have  for  some  time  held  in  contem- 
plation. The  first  is  an  analysis  of  the  new  priesthood ;  the 
second  a  true  personification,  both  by  painting  and  sculp- 
ture, of  Venus;  the  third  a  discovery  of  what  has  been  hith- 
erto unin vented  —  a  nightingale  sauce,     By  the  inscrutable 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  PALL  OF  ROME.  39 

wisdom  of  P'ate,  it  has  been  so  willed  that  the  last  of  the 
objects  I  proposed  to  myself  has  been  the  first  attained. 
The  sauce  is  composed,  and  I  have  just  concluded  on  this 
vellum  the  ode  that  is  to  introduce  it  at  my  table.  The 
analyzation  will  be  my  next  labor.  It  will  take  the  form 
of  a  treatise,  in  which,  making  the  experience  of  past  years 
the  groundwork  of  prophecy  for  the  future,  I  shall  show  the 
precise  number  of  additional  dissensions,  controversies,  and 
quarrels  that  will  be  required  to  enable  the  new  priesthood 
to  be  themselves  the  destroyers  of  their  own  worship.  I 
shall  ascertain  by  an  exact  computation  the  year  in  which 
this  destruction  will  be  consummated  ;  and  I  have  by  me,  as 
the  materials  for  my  work,  a  historical  summary  of  Chris- 
tian schisms  and  disputes  in  Rome  for  the  last  hundred 
years.  As  for  my  second  design,  the  personification  of  Ve- 
nus, it  is  of  appalling  difficulty.  It  demands  an  investiga- 
tion of  the  women  of  every  nation  under  the  sun,  a  com- 
parison of  the  relative  excellencies  and  peculiarities  of  their 
several  charms,  and  a  combination  of  all  that  is  loveliest  in 
the  infinite  variety  of  their  most  prominent  attractions,  un- 
der one  form.  To  forward  the  execution  of  this  arduous 
project,  my  tenants  at  home  and  my  slave-merchants  abroad 
have  orders  to  send  to  my  villa  in  Sicily  all  women  who  are 
born  most  beautiful  in  the  empire,  or  can  be  brought  most 
beautiful  from  the  nations  around.  I  will  have  them  dis- 
played before  me,  of  every  shade  in  complexion  and  of  ev- 
ery peculiarity  in  form  !  At  the  fitting  period  I  shall  com- 
mence my  investigations,  undismayed  by  difficulty  and  de- 
termined on  success.  Never  yet  has  the  true  Venus  been 
personified !  Should  I  accomplish  the  task,  how  exquisite 
will  be  my  triumph !  My  work  will  be  the  altar  at  which 
thousands  will  ofier  up  the  softest  emotions  of  the  heart. 
It  will  free  the  prisoned  imagination  of  youth,  and  freshen 
the  fading  recollections  on  the  memory  of  age!" 

Vetranio  paused.  The  Cynic  was  struck  dumb  with  in- 
dignation. A  solitary  zealot  for  the  Church,  who  happen- 
ed to  be  by,  frowned  at  the  analyzation.  The  ladies  titter- 
ed at  the  personification.  The  gastronomists  chuckled  at 
the  nightingale  sauce;  but  for  the  first  few  minutes  no 
one  spoke.  During  this  temporary  embarrassment,  Vetra- 
nio whispered  a  few  words  in  Julia's  ear,  and,  just  as  the 


40  ANTONINA ;  OB,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

Cynic  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  retort — accompanied  by 
the  lady,  he  quitted  the  room. 

Never  was  popularity  more  unalloyed  than  Vetranio's. 
Gifted  with  a  disposition,  the  pliability  of  which  adapted 
itself  to  all  emergencies,  his  generosity  disarmed  enemies, 
while  his  affability  made  friends'.  Munificent  without  as- 
sumption, successful  without  pride,  he  obliged  with  grace, 
and  shone  with  safety.  People  enjoyed  his  hospitality,  for 
they  knew  that  it  was  disinterested ;  and  admired  his  ac- 
quirements, for  they  felt  that  they  were  unobtrusive.  Some- 
times (as  in  his  dialogue  with  the  Cynic)  the  whim  of  the 
moment,  or  the  sting  of  a  sarcasm,  drew  from  him  a  hint  at 
his  station,  or  a  display  of  his  eccentricities ;  but  as  he  was 
always  the  first  soon  afterward  to  lead  the  laugh  at  his 
own  outbreak,  his  credit  as  a  noble  suffered  nothing  by  his 
infirmity  as  a  man.  Gayly  and  attractively  he  moved  in 
all  grades  of  the  society  of  his  age,  winning  his  social  laurels 
in  every  rank,  without  making  a  rival  to  dispute  their  pos- 
session, or  an  enemy  to  detract  from  their  value. 

On  quitting  the  court  waiting-room,  Vetranio  and  Julia 
descended  the  palace  stairs,  and  passed  into  the  emperor's 
garden.  Used  generally  as  an  evening  lounge,  this  place 
was  now  untenanted,  save  by  the  few  attendants  engaged 
in  cultivating  the  flower-beds,  and  watering  the  smooth, 
shady  lawns.  Entering  one  of  the  most  retired  of  the  nu- 
merous summer-houses  among  the  trees,  Vetranio  motioned 
his  companion  to  a  seat,  and  then  abruptly  addressed  her 
in  the  following  words : 

"  I  have  heard  that  you  are  about  to  depart  for  Rome— is 
it  true  ?" 

He  asked  this  question  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  a  manner 
in  its  earnestness  strangely  at  variance  with  the  volatile 
gayety  which  had  characterized  him  but  a  few  moments 
before  among  the  nobles  of  the  court.  As  Julia  answered 
him  in  the  affirmative,  his  countenance  expressed  a  lively 
satisfaction ;  and,  seating  himself  by  her  side,  he  continued 
the  conversation  thus: 

"  If  I  thought  that  you  intended  to  stay  for  any  length 
of  time  in  the  city,  I  should  venture  upon  a  fresh  extortion 
from  your  friendship,  by  asking  you  to  lend  me  your  little 
villa  at  Aricia !" 


AXTONIXA  ;     OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROMK.  41 

"You  shall  take  with  you  to  Rome  an  order  on  ray  stew- 
ard to  place  every  thing  there  at  your  entire  disposal." 

"  My  generous  Julia  !  You  are  of  the  gifted  few  who 
really  know  how  to  confer  a  favor!  Another  woman  would 
have  asked  me  why  I  wanted  the  villa — you  give  it  unre- 
servedly. So  delicate  an  unwillingness  to  intrude  on  a  se- 
cret reminds  me  that  the  secret  should  now  be  yours !" 

To  explain  the  easy  confidence  that  existed  between  Ve- 
tranio  and  Julia,  it  is  necessary  to  inform  the  reader  that 
the  lady  —  although  still  attractive  in  appearance — was  of 
an  age  to  muse  on  her  past,  ratlier  than  to  meditate  on  her 
future  conquests.  She  had  known  her  eccentric  companion 
from  his  boyhood,  had  been  once  flattered  in  his  verses,  and 
was  sensible  enough  —  now  that  her  charms  were  on  the 
wane — to  be  as  content  with  the  friendship  of  the  senator, 
as  she  bad  formerly  been  enraptured  with  the  adoration  of 
the  youth. 

"You  are  too  penetrating"  —  resumed  Vetranio,  after  a 
short  pause — "  not  to  have  already  suspected  that  I  only  re- 
quire your  villa  to  assist  me  in  the  concealment  of  an  in- 
trigue. So  peculiar  is  my  adventure  in  its  different  circum- 
stances, that  to  make  use  of  my  palace  as  the  scene  of  its 
development,  would  be  to  risk  a  discovery  which  might  pro- 
duce the  immediate  subversion  of  all  my  designs.  But  I 
fear  the  length  of  my  confession  will  exceed  the  duration  of 
your  patience  !" 

"You  have  aroused  my  curiosity.  I  could  listen  to  you 
forever !" 

"A  short  time  before  I  took  my  departure  from  Rome  for 
this  place,"  continued  Vetranio,  "I  encountered  an  advent- 
ure of  the  most  extraordinary  nature,  which  has  haunted 
me  with  the  most  extraordinary  perseverance,  and  which 
will  have,  I  feel  assured,  the  most  extraordinary  results.  I 
was  sitting  one  evening  in  the  garden  of  my  palace  on  the 
Pincian  Mount,  occupied  in  trying  a  new  composition  on  my 
lute.  In  one  of  the  pauses  of  the  melody,  which  was  tender 
and  plaintive,  I  heard  sounds  that  resembled  the  sobbing  of 
some  one  in  distress  among  the  trees  behind  me.  I  looked 
cautiously  round,  and  discerned,  half  hidden  by  the  verdure, 
the  figure  of  a  young  girl,  who  appeared  to  be  listening  to 
the  music  with  the  most  entranced  attention.     Flattered  by 


42  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  TIIK    FALL    OF    ROME. 

such  a  testimony  to  my  skifl,  and  anxious  to  gain  a  nearer 
view  of  my  mysterious  visitant,  I  advanced  toward  her  hid- 
ing-place, forgetting  in  my  haste  to  continue  playing  on  the 
lute.  The  instant  the  music  ceased,  she  discerned  me  and 
disappeared.  Determined  to  behold  her,  I  again  struck  the 
chords,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  saw  her  white  robe  once 
more  among  the  trees.  I  redoubled  my  efforts.  I  played 
with  the  utmost  expression  the  most  patlietic  parts  of  the 
melody.  As  if  under  the  influence  of  a  charm,  she  began  to 
advance  toward  me,  now  hesitating,  now  moving  back  a  few 
steps,  now  approaching,  half  reluctantly,  half  willingly,  until, 
utterly  vanquished  by  the  long  trembling  close  of  the  last 
cadence  of  the  air,  she  ran  suddenly  up  to  me,  and,  falling  at 
my  feet,  raised  her  hands  as  if  to  implore  my  pardon." 

"Truly  this  was  no  common  tribute  to  your  skill!  Did 
she  speak  to  you  ?" 

"She  uttered  not  a  word,"  continued  Vetranio.  "Her 
large  soft  eyes,  bright  with  tears,  looked  piteously  up  in  my 
face ;  her  delicate  lips  trembled  as  if  she  wished  to  speak,  but 
dared  not ;  her  smooth  round  arms  were  the  very  perfection 
of  beauty.  Child  as  she  seemed  in  years  and  emotions,  she 
looked  a  woman  in  loveliness  and  form.  For  the  moment,  I 
was  too  much  astonished  by  the  suddenness  of  her  supplica- 
ting action  to  move  or  speak.  As  soon  as  I  recovered  my- 
self, I  attempted  to  fondle  and  console  her,  but  she  shrunk 
from  my  embrace,  and  seemed  inclined  to  escape  from  me 
again,  until  I  touched  once  more  the  strings  of  the  lute,  and 
then  she  uttered  a  subdued  exclamation  of  delight,  nestled 
close  up  to  me,  and  looked  into  my  face  with  such  a  strange 
expression  of  mingled  adoration  and  rapture,  that  I  declare 
to  you,  Julia,  I  felt  as  bashful  before  her  as  a  boy." 

"  You  bashful !  The  Senator  Vetranio  bashful !"  exclaimed 
Julia,  looking  up  with  an  expression  of  the  most  unfeigned 
incredulity  and  astonishment. 

"  The  lute,"  pursued  Vetranio,  gravely,  without  heeding 
the  interruption,"  was  my  sole  means  of  procuiing  any  com- 
munication with  her.  If  I  ceased  playing,  we  were  as  stran- 
gers ;  if  I  resumed,  we  were  as  friends.  So,  subduing  the  notes 
of  the  instrument,  while  she  spoke  to  me  in  a  soft,  tremulous, 
musical  voice,  I  still  continued  to  play.  By  this  plan  I  dis- 
covered at  our  first  interview  that-  she  was  the  daughter  of 


AXTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  43 

one  Numerian,  that  she  was  on  the  point  of  completing  her 
fourteenth  year,  and  that  she  was  called  Antonina.  I  had 
only  succeeded  in  gaining  this  mere  outline  of  her  story, 
when,  as  if  struck  by  some  sudden  apprehension,  she  tore 
herself  from  me  with  a  look  of  the  utmost  terror,  and  en- 
treating me  not  to  follow  her  if  I  ever  desired  to  see  her 
again,  she  disappeared  rapidly  among  the  trees." 

"More  and  more  wonderful !  And  in  your  new  character 
of  a  bashful  man,  you  doubtless  obeyed  her  injunctions?" 

"  I  did,"  replied  the  senator;  "but  the  next  evening  I  re- 
visited the  garden  grove ;  and,  as  soon  as  I  struck  the  chords, 
as  if  by  magic  she  again  approached.  At  this  second  inter- 
view I  learned  the  reason  of  her  mysterious  appearances  and 
departures.  Her  father,  she  told  me,  was  one  of  a  new  sect, 
who  imagine — with  what  reason  it  is  impossible  to  compre- 
hend—  that  they  recommend  themselves  to  their  deity  by 
making  tlieir  lives  one  perpetual  round  of  bodily  suiFering 
and  mental  anguish.  Xot  content  with  distorting  all  his 
own  feelings  and  faculties,  this  tyrant  perpetrated  his  insane 
austerities  upon  the  poor  child  as  well.  He  forbade  her  to 
enter  a  theatre,  to  look  on  sculpture,  to  read  poetry,  to  list- 
en to  music.  He  made  her  learn  long  prayers,  and  attend  to 
interminable  sermons.  He  allowed  her  no  companions  of 
her  own  age — not  even  girls  like  herself  The  only  recrea- 
tion that  she  could  obtain  was  the  permission — granted  with 
much  reluctance  and  many  rebukes — to  cultivate  a  little  gar- 
den which  belonged  to  the  house  they  lived  in,  and  joined  at 
one  point  the  groves  round  my  palace.  There,  while  she  was 
engaged  over  her  flowei'S,  she  first  heard  the  sound  of  my 
lute.  For  many  months  before  I  had  discovered  her,  she 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  climbing  the  inclosure  that  bounded 
her  garden,  and  hiding  herself  among  the  trees  to  listen  to 
the  music,  whenever  her  father's  concerns  took  him  abroad. 
She  had  been  discovered  in  this  occupation  by  an  old  man 
appointed  to  watch  her  in  his  master's  absence.  The  attend- 
ant, hQ^wever,  on  hearing  her  confession,  not  only  promised  to 
keep  her  secret,  but  permitted  her  to  continue  her  visits  to 
my  grove  whenever  I  chanced  to  be  playing  there  on  the 
lute.  Now  the  most  mysterious  part  of  this  matter  is,  that 
the  girl  seemed  —  in  spite  of  his  severity  toward  her — to 
have  a  great  aflection  for  her  surly  parent ;  for,  when  I  of- 


44  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

fered  to  deliver  Iier  from  his  custody,  she  declared  that  noth- 
ing could  induce  her  to  desert  him  ;  not  even  the  attraction 
of  living  among  fine  pictures  and  hearing  beautiful  music 
every  hour  in  the  day.  But  I  see  I  weary  you ;  and  indeed 
it  is  evident,  from  the  length  of  the  shadows,  that  the  hour 
of  my  departure  is  at  hand.  Let  me,  then,  pass  from  my  in- 
troductory interviews  with  Antonina,  to  the  consequences 
that  had  resulted  from  them  when  I  set  forth  on  my  journey 
to  Ravenna." 

"I  think  I  can  imagine  the  consequences  already  !"  said 
Julia,  smiling  maliciously. 

" Begin,  then,"  retorted  Vetranio,  "by  imagining  that  the 
strangeness  of  this  girl's  situation,  and  the  originality  of 
her  ideas,  invested  her  with  an  attraction  for  me  which 
the  charms  of  her  person  and  age  contributed  immensely 
to  heighten.  She  delighted  my  faculties  as  a  poet  as  mucli 
as  she  fired  my  feelings  as  a  man ;  and  I  determined  to  lure 
her  from  the  tyrannical  protection  of  her  father,  by  the  em- 
ployment of  every  artifice  that  my  ingenuity  could  suggest. 
I  began  by  teaching  her  to  exercise  for  herself  the  talent 
which  had  so  attracted  her  in  another.  By  the  familiarity 
engendered  on  both  sides  by  such  an  occupation,  I  hoped  to 
gain  as  much  in  aflfection  from  her  as  she  acquired  in  skill 
from  me,  but,  to  my  astonishment,  I  still  found  her  as  indif- 
ferent toward  the  master  and  as  tender  toward  the  music 
as  she  had  appeared  at  our  first  interview.  If  she  had  re- 
pelled my  advances,  if  they  had  overwhelmed  her  with  con- 
fusion, I  could  have  adapted  myself  to  her  humor,  I  should 
have  felt  the  encouragement  of  hope ;  but  the  coldness,  the 
carelessness,  the  unnatural,  incomprehensible  ease  with  which 
she  received  even  my  caresses,  utterly  disconcerted  me.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  could  only  regard  me  as  a  moving  statue, 
as  a  mere  impersonation,  immaterial  as  the  science  I  was 
teaching  her.  If  I  spoke,  she  hardly  looked  on  me;  if  I 
moved,  she  scarcely  noticed  the  action.  I  could  not  consid- 
er it  dislike — she  seemed  too  gentle  to  nourish  such  a  feeling 
for  any  creature  on  earth.  I  could  not  believe  it  coldness; 
she  was  all  life,  all  agitation,  if  she  heard  only  a  few  notes 
of  music.  When  she  touched  the  chords  of  the  instrument 
her  whole  frame  trembled.  Her  eyes,  mild,  serious,  and 
thoughtful,  when  she  looked  on  me^  now  brightened  with  de- 


ANTON IX a;     or,  the    FALL    OF    KOME.  45 

light,  now  softened  with  tears,  when  she  listened  to  the  lute. 
As  day  by  day  lier  skill  in  music  increased,  so  her  manner 
toward  me  grew  more  inexplicably  indiflferent.  At  length, 
weary  of  the  constant  disappointments  that  I  experienced, 
and  determined  to  make  a  last  effort  to  touch  her  heart  by 
awakening  her  gratitude,  I  presented  her  with  the  very  lute 
which  she  had  at  first  heard,  and  on  which  she  had  now 
learned  to  play,  Never  have  I  seen  any  human  being  so 
rapturously  delighted  as  this  incomprehensible  girl,  when 
she  received  the  instrument  from  my  hands.  She  alternate- 
ly wept  and  laughed  over  it,  she  kissed  it,  fondled  it,  spoke 
to  it,  as  if  it  had  been  a  living  thing.  But  when  I  approached 
to  suppress  the  expressions  of  thankfulness  that  she  poured 
on  me  for  the  gift,  she  suddenly  hid  the  lute  in  her  robe,  as 
if  afraid  that  I  should  deprive  her  of  it,  and  hurried  rapidly 
from  my  sight.  The  next  day  I  waited  for  her  at  our  ac- 
customed meeting  place,  but  she  never  appeared.  I  sent  a 
slave  disguised  to  her  father's  house,  but  she  would  hold  no 
communication  with  him.  It  was  evident  that,  now  she  had 
gained  her  end,  she  cared  no  more  to  behold  me.  In  my  first 
moments  of  irritation,  I  determined  to  make  her  feel  my  pow- 
er, if  she  depised  my  kindness ;  but  reflection  convinced  me, 
from  my  acquaintance  with  her  character,  that  in  such  a  mat- 
ter force  was  impolitic,  that  I  should  risk  my  popularity  in 
Rome,  and  engage  myself  in  an  unworthy  quarrel  to  no  pur- 
pose. Dissatisfied  with  myself  and  disappointed  in  the  girl, 
I  obeyed  the  first  dictates  of  my  impatience,  and  seizing  the 
opportunity  afibrded  by  my  duties  in  the  senate  of  escaping 
from  the  scene  of  my  defeated  hopes,  I  departed  angrily  for 
Ravenna." 

"  Departed  for  Ravenna !"  cried  Julia,  laughing  outright. 
"Oh,  what  a  conclusion  to  the  adventure !  I  confess  it,  Vetra- 
nio,  such  consequences  as  i,hese  are  beyond  all  imagination  !" 

"You  laugh, Julia,"  returned  the  senator,  a  little  piqued; 
"but  hear  me  to  the  end,  and  you  will  find  that  I  have  not 
yet  resigned  myself  to  defeat.  For  the  few  days  that  I  have 
remained  here,  Antonina's  image  has  incessantly  troubled 
my  thoughts.  I  perceive  that  my  inclination,  as  well  as  my 
reputation,  is  concerned  in  subduing  her  ungrateful  aversion. 
I  suspect  that  my  anxiety  to  gain  her,  will,  if  unremoved,  so 
far  influence  mj  character  that,  from  Vetranio  the  Serene,  I 


46  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

shall  be  changed  into  Vetranio  the  Sardonic.  Pride,  honor, 
curiosity,  and  love,  all  urge  me  to  her  conquest.  To  pre- 
pare for  my  banquet  is  an  excuse  to  the  court  for  my  sud- 
den departure  from  this  place ;  the  real  object  of  my  jour- 
ney is  Antonina  alone." 

"Ah,  now  I  recognize  my  friend  again  in  his  own  charac- 
ter," remarked  the  lady,  approvingly. 

"  You  will  ask  me  how  I  purpose  to  obtain  another  inter- 
view with  her?"  continued  Vetranio.  "I  answer,  that  the 
girl's  attendant  has  voluntarily  oftered  himself  as  an  instru- 
ment for  the  prosecution  of  my  plans.  The  very  day  before 
I  departed  from  Rome,  he  suddenly  presented  himself  to  me, 
in  ray  garden,  and  proposed  to  introduce  me  into  Xumeri- 
an's  house — having  first  demanded,  with  the  air  more  of  an 
equal  than  an  inferior,  whether  the  report  that  I  was  still 
a  secret  adherent  of  the  old  religion,  of  the  worship  of  the 
gods,  was  true.  Suspicious  of  the  fellow's  motives  (for  he 
abjured  all  recompense  as  the  reward  of  his  treachery),  and 
irritated  by  the  girl's  recent  ingratitude,  I  treated  his  offer 
with  contempt.  Now,  however,  that  my  dissatisfaction  is 
calmed  and  my  anxiety  aroused,  I  am  determined,  at  all 
hazards,  to  trust  myself  to  this  man,  be  his  motives  for  aid- 
ing me  what  they  may.  If  my  efforts  at  my  expected  in- 
terview— and  I  will  not  spare  them — are  rewarded  with  suc- 
cess, it  will  be  necessary  to  obtain  some  refuge  for  Antonina 
that  will  neither  be  suspected  nor  searched.  For  such  a 
hiding-place  nothing  can  be  more  admirably  adapted  than 
your  Arician  villa.  Do  you — now  that  you  know  for  what 
use  it  is  intended — repent  of  your  generous  disposal  of  it  in 
aid  of  my  design?" 

"  I  am  delighted  to  have  had  it  to  bestow  on  you,"  replied 
the  liberal  Julia,  pressing  Vetranio's  hand.  "Your  advent- 
ure is  indeed  uncommon ;  I  burn  with  impatience  to  hear 
how  it  will  end.  Whatever  happens,  you  may  depend  on 
my  secrecy  and  count  on  my  assistance.  But  see,  the  sun 
is  already  verging  toward  the  west ;  and  yonder  comes  one 
of  your  slaves  to  inform  you,  I  doubt  not,  that  your  equi- 
page is  prepared.  Return  with  me  to  the  palace,  and  I  will 
supply  you  with  the  letter  necessary  to  introduce  you  as 
master  to  ray  country  abode." 

******* 


ANTONINA ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  47 

The  worthy  citizens  of  Kavenna  assembled  in  the  square 
before  the  palace  to  behold  the  senator's  departure,  had  en- 
tirely exhausted  such  innocent  matei-ials  for  amusement  as 
consisted  in  staring  at  the  guards,  catching  the  clouds  of 
gnats  that  hovered  about  their  ears,  and  quarreling  with 
each  other;  and  were  now  reduced  to  a  state  of  very  noisy 
and  unanimous  impatience,  when  their  discontent  was  sud- 
denly and  most  effectually  appeased  by  the  appearance  of 
the  traveling  equipage,  with  Vetranio  and  Camilla,  outside 
the  palace  gates. 

Uproarious  shouts  greetea  the  appearance  of  the  senator 
and  his  magnificent  retinue;  but  they  were  increased  a 
hundred-fold  when  the  chief  slaves,  by  their  master's  com- 
mand, each  scattered  a  handful  of  small  coin  among  the 
poorer  classes  of  the  spectators.  Every  man  among  that 
heterogeneous  assemblage  of  rogues,  fools,  and  idlers  roared 
his  loudest,  and  capered  his  highest,  in  honor  of  the  generous 
patrician.  Gradually  and  carefully  the  illustrious  travelers 
moved  through  the  crowd  around  them  to  the  city  gate. 
And  thence,  amidst  incessant  shouts  of  applause,  raised  with 
imposing  unanimity  of  lung,  aiid  wrought  up  to  the  most 
distracting  discordancy  of  noise,  Vetranio  and  his  lively 
companion  departed  in  triumph  for  Rome. 

%  4:  4:  •   :|c  :ic  4:  4: 

A  few  days  after  this  event,  the  citizens  were  again  as- 
sembled at  the  same  place  and  hour — probably  to  witness 
another  patrician  departure,  when  their  ears  were  assailed 
by  the  unexpected  sound,  produced  by  the  call  to  arms, 
which  was  followed  immediately  by  the  closing  of  the  city 
gates.  They  had  scarcely  asked  each  other  the  meaning  of 
these  unusual  occurrences,  when  a  peasant,  half  frantic  with 
terror,  rushed  into  the  square,  shouting  out  the  terrible  in- 
telligence that  the  Goths  were  in  sight ! 

The  courtiers  heard  the  news,  and,  starting  from  a  luxuri- 
ous repast,  hurried  to  the  palace  windows  to  behold  the  por- 
tentous spectacle.  For  the  remainder  of  the  evening  the 
banqueting-tables  were  unapproached  by  the  guests. 

The  wretched  emperor  was  surprised  among  his  poultry 
by  that  dreaded  intelligence.  He,  too,  hastened  to  the  win- 
dows, and,  looking  forth,  saw  the  army  of  avengers  passing 
in  contempt  his  solitarj'  fortress,  and  moving  swiftly  on- 


48  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

ward  toward  defenseless  Rome.  Long  after  tlie  darkness 
had  hidden  the  masses  of  tliat  mighty  multitude  from  his 
eyes,  did  he  remain  staring  helplessly  upon  the  fading  land- 
scape, in  a  stupor  of  astonishment  and  dread  ;  and  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  possessed  them,  his  flocks  of  fowls 
were  left  for  that  night  unattended  by  their  master's  hand. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ROME. 

The  perusal  of  the  title  to  this  chapter  will,  we  fear,  ex- 
cite emotions  of  apprehension,  rather  than  of  curiosity,  in  the 
breasts  of  experienced  readers.  They  will  doubtless  imag- 
ine that  it  is  portentous  of  long  rhapsodies  on  those  won- 
ders of  antiquity,  the  description  of  which  has  long  since 
become  absolutely  nauseous  to  them  by  incessant  iteration. 
They  will  foresee  wailings  over  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars, 
and  meditations  among  the  arches  of  the  Colosseum,  loading 
a  long  series  of  weary  paragraphs  to  the  very  chapter's  end  ; 
and,  considerately  anxious  to  spare  their  attention  a  task 
from  which  it  recoils,  they  will  unanimously  hurry  past  the 
dreaded  desert  of  conventional  reflection,  to  alight  on  the 
first  oasis  that  may  present  itself,  whether  it  be  formed  by 
a  new  division  of  the  story,  or  suddenly  indicated  by  the 
appearance  of  a  dialogue.  Animated,  therefore,  by  appre- 
hensions such  as  these,  we  hasten  to  assure  them  that  in 
no  instance  will  the  localities  of  our  story  trench  upon  tlie 
limits  of  the  well-worn  Forum,  or  mount  the  arches  of 
the  exhausted  Colosseum.  It  is  with  the  beings,  and  not 
the  buildings  of  old  Rome,  that  their  attention  is  to  be  oc- 
cupied. We  desire  to  present  them  with  a  picture  of  the  in- 
most emotions  of  the  times — of  the  living,  breathing  actions 
and  passions  of  the  people  of  the  doomed  empire.  Anti- 
quarian topography  and  classical  architecture  we  leave  to 
abler  pens,  and  resign  to  other  readers. 

It  is,  however,  necessary  that  the  sphere  in  which  the  per- 
sonages of  our  story  are  about  to  act  should  be  in  some 
measure  indicated,  in  order  to  facilitate  the  comprehension 
nf  thfiii-  i-fiSDective  movements.     That  portion  of  the  extinct 


AXTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  49 

city  which  we  design  to  revive  has  left  few  traces  of  its  ex- 
istence in  the  modern  town.  Its  sites  are  traditionary,  its 
buildings  are  dust.  The  church  rises  where  the  temple  once 
stood,  and  the  wine-shop  now  lures  the  passing  idler  where 
the  bath  invited  his  ancestor  of  old. 

The  walls  of  Rome  are  in  extent,  at  the  present  day,  the 
same  as  they  were  at  the  period  of  which  we  now  write. 
But  here  all  analogy  between  the  ancient  and  modern  city 
ends.  Tlie  houses  that  those  walls  wei-e  once  scarcely  wide 
enough  to  inclose  have  long  since  vanished,  and  their  mod- 
ern successors  occupy  but  a  third  of  the  space  once  allotted 
to  the  capital  of  the  empire. 

Beyond  the  walls  immense  suburbs  stretched  forth  in 
the  days  of  old.  Gorgeous  villas,  luxurious  groves,  temples, 
theatres,  baths  —  interspersed  by  colonies  of  dwellings  be- 
longing to  the  lower  orders  of  the  people  —  surrounded  the 
mighty  city.  Of  these  innumerable  abodes  hardly  a  trace 
remains.  The  modern  traveler,  as  he  looks  forth  over  the 
site  of  the  famous  suburbs,  beholds,  here  and  there,  a  ruined 
aqueduct,  or  a  crumbling  tomb,  tottering  on  the  surface  of 
a  pestilential  marsh. 

The  present  entrance  to  Rome  by  the  Portal  del  Popolo 
occupies  the  same  site  as  the  ancient  Flaminian  Gate.  Three 
great  streets  now  lead  from  it  toward  the  southern  extremi- 
ty of  the  city,  and  form  with  their  tributaries  the  principal 
portion  of  modern  Rome.  On  one  side  they  are  bounded 
by  the  Pincian  Hill,  on  the  other  by  the  Tiber.  Of  these 
streets,  those  nearest  the  river  occupy  the  position  of  the 
fiijnous  Campus  Martins;  those  on  the  other  side  the  ancient 
approaches  to  the  gardens  of  Sallust  and  Lucullus,  on  the 
Pincian  Mount. 

On"  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Tiber  (gained  by  the  Ponte 
St.  Angelo,  formerly  the  Pons  Elius),  two  streets,  pierced 
through  an  irregular  and  populous  neighborhood,  conduct 
to  the  modern  Church  of  St.  Peter.  At  the  period  of  our 
story  this  part  of  the  city  was  of  much  greater  consequence, 
both  in  size  and  appearance,  than  it  is  at  present,  and  led 
directly  to  the  ancient  Basilica  of  St.  Peter,  which  stood  on 
the  same  site  as  that  now  occupied  by  the  modern  edifice. 

The  events  about  to  be  narrated  occur  entirely  in  the 
parts  of  the  city  just  described.     From  the  Pincian  Hill, 

3 


50  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  komk. 

across  the  Campus  Martins,  over  the  Pons  Elius,  and  on  to 
the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter,  the  reader  may  be  often  invited  to 
accompany  us,  but  he  will  be  spared  all  necessity  of  pene- 
trating familiar  ruins,  or  mourning  over  the  sepulchres  of 
departed  patriots. 

Ere,  however,  we  revert  to  former  actoi's,  or  proceed  to 
new  characters,  it  will  be  requisite  to  people  the  streets  that 
we  here  attempt  to  rebuild.  By  this  process  it  is  hoped 
that  the  reader  will  gain  that  familiarity  with  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  Romans  of  the  fifth  century  on  which 
the  influence  of  this  story  mainly  depends,  and  which  we 
despair  of  being  able  to  instill  by  a  philosophical  disquisi- 
tion on  the  features  of  the  age.  A  few  pages  of  illustration 
will  serve  our  purpose  better,  perhaps,  than  volumes  of  his- 
torical description.  There  is  no  more  unerring  index  to  the 
character  of  a  people  than  the  streets  of  their  cities. 

It  is  near  evening.  In  the  widest  part  of  the  Campus 
Martins  crowds  of  people  are  assembled  before  the  gates  of 
a  palace.  They  are  congregated  to  receive  several  baskets 
of  provisions,  distributed  with  ostentatious  charity  by  the 
owner  of  the  mansion.  The  incessant  clamor  and  agitation 
of  the  impatient  multitude  form  a  strange  contrast  to  the 
stately  serenity  of  the  natural  and  artificial  objects  by  which 
they  are  inclosed  on  all  sides. 

The  space  they  occupy  is  oblong  in  shape,  and  of  great  ex- 
tent in  size.  Part  of  it  is  formed  by  a  turf  walk  shaded  with 
trees,  part  by  the  paved  approaches  to  the  palace  and  the 
public  baths  which  stand  in  its  immediate  neighborhood. 
These  two  edifices  are  remarkable  by  their  magnificent  out- 
ward adornments  of  statues,  and  the  elegance  and  number 
of  the  flights  of  steps  by  which  they  are  respectively  enter- 
ed. With  the  inferior  buildings,  the  market-places  and  the 
gardens  attached  to  them,  they  are  sufticiently  extensive  to 
form  the  boundary  of  one  side  of  the  immediate  view.  The 
appearance  of  monotony  which  might  at  other  times  be  re- 
marked in  the  vastness  and  regularity  of  their  white  fronts, 
is,  at  this  moment,  agreeably  broken  by  several  gayly-color- 
ed  awnings,  stretched  over  their  doors  and  balconies.  The 
sun  is  now  shining  on  them  with  overpowering  brightness; 
the  metallic  ornaments  on  their  windows  glitter  like  gems  of 
fire;  even  the.trees  which  form  their  groves  partake  of  the 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  51 

universal  flow  of  light,  and  fail,  like  the  objects  around 
them,  to  offer  to  the  weary  eye  either  refreshment  or  re- 
pose. 

Toward  the  north,  the  Mausoleutn  of  Augustus,  towering 
proudly  up  into  the  brilliant  sky,  at  once  attracts  the  atten- 
tion. From  its  position,  parts  of  this  noble  building  are 
already  in  shade.  Not  a  human  being  is  visible  on  any  part 
of  its  mighty  galleries  —  it  stands  solitary  and  sublime,  an 
impressive  embodiment  of  the  emotions  which  it  was  raised 
to  represent. 

On  the  side  opposite  the  palace  and  the  baths  is  the  turf 
walk  already  mentioned.  Trees  thickly  planted,  and  inter- 
laced by  vines,  cast  a  luxurious  shade  over  this  spot.  In 
tlieir  interstices,  viewed  from  a  distance,  appear  glimpses 
of  gay  dresses,  groups  of  figures  in  repose,  stands  loaded 
with  fruit  and  flowers,  and  innumerable  white  marble  statues 
of  fawns  and  wood-nymphs.  From  this  delicious  retreat 
the  rippling  of  fountains  is  to  be  heard,  occasionally  inter- 
rupted by  the  rustling  of  leaves,  or  the  plaintive  cadences 
of  the  Roman  flute. 

Southward,  two  pagan  temples  stand  in  lonely  grandeur 
among  a  host  of  monuments  and  trophies.  The  symmetry  of 
their  first  construction  still  remains  unimpaired,  their  white 
marble  pillars  shine  in  the  sunlight  brightly  as  of  old,  yet 
they  now  present  to  the  eye  an  aspect  of  strange  desolation, 
of  unnatural,  mysterious  gloom.  Although  the  laws  forbid 
the  worship  for  which  they  were  built,  the  hand  of  reform 
has  as  yet  not  ventured  to  doom  them  to  ruin,  or  adapt  them 
to  Christian  purposes.  Xone  venture  to  tread  their  once 
crowded  colonnades.  Xo  priest  appears  to  give  the  oracles 
from  their  doors  —  no  sacrifices  reek  upon  their  naked  al- 
tars. Under  their  roofs,  visited  only  by  the  light  that  steals 
through  their  narrow  entrances,  stand  unnoticed,  unworship- 
ed,  unmoved,  the  mighty  idols  of  old  Rome.  Human  emo- 
tion, which  made  them  omnipotence  once,  has  left  them  but 
stone  now.  The  "Star  in  the  East" has  already  dimmed  the 
fearful  halo  which  the  devotion  of  bloodshed  once  wreathed 
round  their  forms.  Forsaken  and  alone,  they  stand  but  as 
the  gloomy  monuments  of  the  greatest  delusion  ever  organ- 
ized by  the  ingenuity  of  man. 

We  have  now,  so  to  express  it,  exhibited  the  frame  sur- 


52  ANTONINA.;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

rounding  the  moving  picture,  which  we  shall  next  attempt 
to  present  to  the  reader  by  mixing  with  the  multitude  be- 
fore the  palace  gates. 

This  assembly  resolved  itself  into  three  divisions:  that 
collected  before  the  palace  steps,  that  loitering  about  the 
public  baths,  and  that  reposing  in  the  shade  of  the  groves. 
The  first  was  of  the  most  consequence  in  numbers,  and  of 
the  greatest  variety  in  appearance.  Composed  of  rogues  of 
the  worst  order  from  every  quarter  of  the  world,  it  might 
be  said  to  present,  in  its  general  aspect  of  numerical  impor- 
tance, the  very  sublime  of  degradation.  Confident  in  their 
rude  union  of  common  avidity,  these  worthy  citizens  vented 
their  insolence  on  all  objects,  and  in  every  direction,  with 
a  careless  impartiality  which  would  have  shamed  the  most 
victorious  efibrts  of  modern  mobs.  The  hubbub  of  voices 
was  perfectly  fearful.  The  coarse  execrations  of  drunken 
Gauls,  the  licentious  witticisms  of  effeminate  Greeks,  the 
noisy  satisfaction  of  native  Romans,  the  clamorous  indigna- 
tion of  irritable  Jews,  all  sounded  together  in  one  incessant 
chorus  of  discordant  noises.  Nor  were  the  senses  of  sight 
and  smell  more  agreeably  assailed  than  the  faculty  of  hear- 
ing by  this  anomalous  congregation.  Immodest  youtii  and 
irreverent  age;  woman  savage,  man  cowardly;  the  swarthy 
Ethiopian  beslabbered  with  stinking  oil ;  the  stolid  Briton 
begrimed  with  dirt;  these,  and  a  hundred  other  varying 
combinations,  to  be  imagined  rather  than  expressed,  met  the 
attention  in  every  direction.  To  describe  the  odors  exhaled 
by  the  heat  from  this  seething  mixture  of  many  pollutions, 
would  be  to  force  the  reader  to  close  the  book;  we  prefer 
to  return  to  the  distribution  which  was  the  cause  of  this 
degrading  tumult,  and  which  consisted  of  small  baskets  of 
roasted  meat  packed  with  common  fruits  and  vegetables, 
and  handed,  or  rather  flung  down,  to  the  mob  by  the  serv- 
ants of  the  nobleman  who  gave  the  feast.  The  people  rev- 
eled in  the  abundance  thus  presented  to  them.  They  threw 
themselves  upon  it  like  wild  beasts;  they  devoured  it  like 
hogs,  or  bore  it  off  like  plunderers;  while,  secure  in  the  emi- 
nence on  which  they  were  placed,  the  purveyors  of  this  pub- 
lic banquet  expressed  their  contempt  for  its  noisy  recipi- 
ents by  holding  their  noses,  stopping  their  ears,  turning 
their  backs,  and  other  pantomimic  demonstrations  of  lofty 


AXTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  53 

and  excessive  disgust.  These  actions  did  not  escape  the  at- 
tention of  those  members  of  the  assembly  who,  having  eaten 
their  fill,  were  at  leisure  to  make  use  of  their  tongues,  and 
who  showered  an  incessant  storm  of  abuse  on  the  heads  of 
their  benefactor's  retainers. 

"  See  those  fellows  !"  cried  one ;  "  they  are  the  waiters  at 
our  feast,  and  they  mock  us  to  our  faces !  Down  wnth  the 
filthy  kitchen  thieves!" 

"Excellently  well  said,  Davus;  but  who  is  to  approach 
them  ?     They  stink  at  this  distance  !" 

"The  rotten-bodied  knaves  have  tlie  noses  of  dogs  and  the 
carcasses  of  goats." 

Then  came  a  chorus  of  voices — "  Down  with  them !  Down 
with  them  !"  in  the  midst  of  which  an  indignant  freedman 
advanced  to  rebuke  the  mob,  receiving,  as  the  reward  of  his 
temerity,  a  shower  of  missiles  and  a  volley  of  curses ;  af- 
ter which  he  was  thus  addressed  by  a  huge  greasy  butcher, 
hoisted  on  his  companion's  shoulders: 

"  By  the  soul  of  the  emperor,  could  I  get  near  you,  you 
rogue,  I  would  quarter  you  with  my  fingers  alone!  A  grin- 
ning scoundrel  that  jeers  at  others!  A  filthy  flatterer  that 
dirts  the  very  ground  he  walks  on.  By  the  blood  of  the 
martyrs,  should  I  fling  the  sweepings  of  the  slaughter-house 
at  him,  he  knows  not  where  to  get  himself  dried  !" 

"  Thou  rag  of  a  man,"  roared  a  neighbor  of  the  indignant 
butcher's,  "  dost  thou  frown  upon  the  guests  of  thy  master, 
the  very  scrapings  of  whose  skin  are  worth  more  than  thy 
whole  carcass !  It  is  easier  to  make  a  drinking  vessel  of  the 
skull  of  a  flea  than  to  make  an  honest  man  of  such  a  villain- 
ous night-walker  as  thou  art !" 

"  Health  and  prosperity  to  our  noble  entertainer  !"  shout- 
ed one  section  of  the  grateful  crowd  as  the  last  speaker 
paused  for  breath. 

"Death  to  all  knaves  of  parasites !"  chimed  in  another. 

"Honor  to  the  citizens  of  Rome !"  roared  a  third  party, 
with  modest  enthusiasm. 

"  Give  that  freedman  our  bones  to  pick  !"  screamed  an  ur- 
chin from  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd. 

This  ingenious  piece  of  advice  was  immediately  followed  ; 
and  the  populace  gave  vent  to  a  shout  of  triumph  as  the 
unfortunate  freedman,  scared  by  a  new  volley  of  missiles, 


54  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

retreated  with  ignominious  expedition  to  the  shelter  of  his 
patron's  halls. 

In  the  slight  and  purified  specimen  of  the  "  table-talk  "  of 
a  Roman  mob,  which  we  have  here  ventured  to  exhibit,  the 
reader  will  perceive  that  extraordinary  mixture  of  servility 
and  insolence  which  characterized  not  only  the  conversa- 
tion, but  the  actions  of  the  lower  orders  of  society,  at  the 
period  of  which  we  write.  Oppressed  and  degraded,  on  the 
one  hand,  to  a  point  of  misery  scarcely  conceivable  to  the 
public  of  the  present  day,  the  poorer  classes  in  Rome  were, 
on  the  other,  invested  with  such  a  degree  of  moral  license, 
and  permitted  such  an  extent  of  political  privilege,  as  flat- 
tered their  vanity  into  blinding  their  sense  of  indignation. 
Slaves  in  their  season  of  servitude,  masters  in  their  hours  of 
recreation,  they  presented,  as  a  class,  one  of  the  most  amaz- 
ing social  anomalies  ever  existing  in  any  nation ;  and  form- 
ed, in  their  dangerous  and  artificial  position,  one  of  the  most 
important  of  the  internal  causes  of  the  downfall  of  Rome. 

The  steps  of  the  public  baths  were  almost  as  crowded  as 
tiie  space  before  the  neighboring  building.  Incessant  streams 
of  people,  either  entering  or  departing,  poured  over  the  broad 
flag-stones  of  its  marble  colonnades.  This  concourse,  although 
composed  in  some  parts  of  the  same  class  of  people  as  that 
assembled  before  the  palace,  presented  a  certain  appearance 
of  respectability.  Here  and  there,  checking  the  dusky  mo- 
notony of  masses  of  dirty  tunics,  might  be  discerned  the  re- 
freshing vision  of  a  clean  robe,  or  the  grateful  indication  of 
a  handsome  person.  Little  groups,  removed  as  far  as  possi- 
ble from  the  neighborhood  of  the  noisy  plebeians,  were  scat- 
tered about,  either  engaged  in  animated  conversation,  or  list- 
lessly succumbing  to  the  lassitude  induced  by  a  recent  bath. 
An  instant's  attention  to  the  subject  of  discourse  among  the 
more  active  of  these  individuals  will  aid  us  in  pursuing  our 
social  revelations. 

The  loudest  voice  among  the  speakers  at  this  particular 
moment  proceeded  from  a  tall,  thin,  sinister-looking  man, 
who  was  haranguing  a  little  group  of  listeners  with  great 
vehemence  and  fluency. 

"I  tell  you,  Socius,"  said  he,  turning  suddenly  upon  one 
of  his  companions,  "that  unless  new  slave  laws  are  made,  my 
calling  is  at  an  end.     My  patron's  estate  requires  incessant 


ANTONIXA;     or,  the    fall    of    ROME.  55 

supplies  of  these  wretches.  I  do  my  best  to  satisfy  the  de- 
mand, and  the  only  result  of  my  labor  is  that  the  miscreants 
either  endanger  my  life,  or  fly  with  impunity  to  join  the  gangs 
of  robbers  infesting  our  woods." 

"Truly  I  am  sorry  for  you;  but  what  alteration  would 
you  have  made  in  the  slave-laws  ?" 

"I  would  empower  bailiffs  to  slay  upon  the  spot  all  slaves 
whom  they  thought  disorderly,  as  an  example  to  the  rest!" 

"What  would  such  a  permission  avail  you?  These  crea- 
tures are  necessary,  and  such  a  law  would  exterminate  them 
in  a  few  months.  Can  you  not  break  their  spirit  with  labor, 
bind  their  strength  with  chains,  and  vanquish  their  obstina- 
cy with  dungeons?" 

"All  this  I  have  done;  but  they  die  under  the  discipline, 
or  escape  from  their  prisons.  I  have  now  three  hundred 
slaves  on  my  patron's  estates.  Against  those  born  on  our 
lands  I  have  little  to  urge.  Many  of  them,  it  is  true,  begin 
the  day  with  weeping  and  end  it  with  death  ;  but  for  the 
most  part,  thanks  to  their  diurnal  allowatice  of  stripes,  they 
are  tolerably  submissive.  It  is  with  the  wretches  that  I 
have  been  obliged  to  purchase  from  prisoners  of  war  and  the 
people  of  revolted  towns  that  I  am  so  dissatisfied.  Punish- 
ments have  no  eflect  on  them;  tliey  are  incessantly  indo- 
lent, sulky,  desperate.  It  was  but  the  other  day  that  ten  of 
them  poisoned  themselves  while  at  work  in  the  fields,  and 
fifty  more,  after  setting  fire  to  a  farm-house  while  my  back 
was  turned,  escaped  to  join  a  gang  of  their  companions,  who 
are  now  robbers  in  the  woods.  These  fellows,  however,  are 
the  last  of  the  troop  who  will  perpetrate  such  offenses.  With 
the  concurrence  of  my  patron,  I  have  adopted  a  plan  that 
will  henceforth  tame  them  efficiently  !" 

"Are  you  at  liberty  to  communicate  it?" 

"By  the  keys  of  St.  Peter,  I  wish  I  could  see  it  practiced 
on  every  estate  in  the  land!  It  is  this:  Near  a  sulphur 
lake  at  some  distance  from  my  farm-house  is  a  tract  of 
marshy  ground,  overspread  here  and  there  by  the  ruins  of 
an  ancient  slaughter-house.  I  propose  to  dig  in  this  place 
several  subterranean  caverns,  each  of  which  shall  be  capa- 
ble of  holding  twenty  men.  Here  my  mutinous  slaves  shall 
sleep  after  their  day's  labor.  The  entrances  shall  be  closed 
until  morning  with  a  large  stone,  on  which  I  will  have  en- 


56  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROMK. 

graven  tliis  inscription:  'These  are  the  dormitories  invented 
by  Gordian,  Lailitf  of  Saturninus,  a  nobleman,  for  the  recep- 
tion of  refractory  slaves.'  " 

"Your  plan  is  ingenious;  but  I  suspect  your  slaves  (so 
insensible  to  hardships  are  the  brutal  herd)  will  sleep  as  un- 
concernedly in  their  new  dormitories  as  in  their  old." 

"  Sleep  I  It  will  be  a  most  original  species  of  repose  that 
they  will  taste  there.  The  stench  of  the  sulphur  lake  will 
breathe  Sabian  odors  for  them  over  a  couch  of  mud.  Their 
anointing  oil  will  be  the  slime  of  attendant  reptiles.  Their 
liquid  perfumes  will  be  the  stagnant  oozings  from  their  cham- 
ber-roof. Their  music  will  be  the  croaking  of  frogs  and  the 
humming  of  gnats;  and  as  for  their  adornments,  why  they 
will  be  decked  forth  with  head-garlands  of  twining  worms, 
and  movable  brooches  of  cock-chafers  and  toads.  Tell  me 
now,  most  sagacious  Socius,  do  you  still  think  that  amidst 
such  luxuries  as  these  my  slaves  will  sleep?" 

"No;  they  will  die." 

"  You  are  again  wrong.  They  will  curse  and  rave,  per- 
haps, but  that  is  of  no  consequence.  They  will  work  the 
longer  above  ground  to  shorten  the  term  of  their  repose  be- 
neath. They  will  wake  at  an  instant's  notice,  and  come  forth 
at  a  moment's  signal.     I  have  no  fear  of  their  dying !" 

"Do  you  leave  Rome  soon?" 

"I  go  this  evening,  taking  with  me  such  a  supply  of  trust- 
worthy assistants  as  will  enable  me  to  execute  my  plan  with- 
out delay.     Farewell,  Socius !" 

"  Most  ingenious  of  bailiffs,  I  bid  you  farewell !" 

As  the  worthy  Gordian  stalked  off,  big  with  the  dignity 
of  his  new  projects,  the  gestures  and  tones  of  a  man  who 
formed  one  of  a  little  group  collected  in  a  remote  part  of  the 
portico  he  was  about  to  quit  attracted  his  attention.  Curi- 
osity formed  as  conspicuous  an  ingredient  in  this  man's  char- 
acter as  cruelty.  lie  stole  behind  the  base  of  a  neighborino- 
pillar;  and  as  the  frequent  repetition  of  the  word  "Goths" 
struck  his  ear  (the  report  of  that  nation's  impending  inva- 
sion having  by  this  time  reached  Rome),  he  carefully  dis- 
posed himself  to  listen  with  the  most  implicit  attention  to 
the  speaker's  voice. 

"  Goths !"  cried  the  man  in  the  stern,  concentrated  accents 
of  despair.    "  Is  there  one  among  us  to  whom  this  report  of 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  57 

their  advance  upon  Rome  does  not  speak  of  hope  rather  than 
of  dread?  Have  we  a  chance  of  rising  from  the  degradation 
forced  on  us  by  our  superiors  until  this  den  of  heartless  tri- 
flers  and  shameless  cowards  is  swept  from  the  very  earth 
that  it  pollutes?" 

"  Your  sentiments  on  the  evils  of  our  condition  are  un- 
doubtedly most  just,"  observed  a  fat,  pompous  man,  to  whom 
the  preceding  remarks  had  been  addressed,"  but  I  can  not 
desire  tlie  reform  you  so  ardently  hope  for.  Think  of  the 
degradation  of  being  conquered  by  barbarians!" 

"  I  am  the  exile  of  my  country's  privileges.  What  inter- 
est have  I  in  upholding  her  honor? — if  honor  she  really  has  !" 
replied  the  first  speaker, 

"Nay  !  Your  expressions  are  too  severe.  You  are  too 
discontented  to  be  just." 

"Am  I?  Hear  me  for  a  moment,  and  you  will  change 
your  opinion.  You  see  me  now,  by  my  bearing  and  appear- 
ance, superior  to  yonder  plebeian  herd.  You  doubtless  think 
that  I  live  at  my  ease  in  the  world,  that  I  can  feel  no  anxie- 
ty for  the  future  about  my  bodily  necessities.  What  would 
you  say  were  I  to  tell  you  that,  if  I  want  another  meal,  a 
lodging  for  to-night,  a  fresh  robe  for  to-morrow,  I  must  rob 
or  flatter  some  great  man  to  gain  them.  Yet  so  it  is.  I  am 
hopeless,  friendless,  destitute.  In  the  whole  of  the  empire 
there  is  not  an  honest  calling  in  which  I  can  take  refuge.  I 
must  become  a  pander  or  a  parasite — a  hired  tyrant  over 
slaves,  or  a  chartered  groveler  beneath  nobles — if  I  would 
not  starve  miserably  in  the  streets,  or  rob  openly  in  the 
woods !  This  is  what  I  am.  Now  listen  to  what  I  was,  1 
was  born  free.  I  inherited  from  my  father  a  farm  which  he 
had  successfully  defended  from  the  encroachments  of  the 
rich,  at  the  expense  of  his  comfort,  his  health,  and  his  life. 
When  I  succeeded  to  his  lands,  I  determined  to  protect  them 
in  my  time  as  studiously  as  he  had  defended  them  in  his.  I 
worked  unintermittinglj^ :  I  enlarged  my  house,  I  improved 
my  fields,  I  increased  my  flocks.  One  after  another,  I  de- 
spised the  threats  and  defeated  the  wiles  of  my  noble  neigh- 
bors, who  desired  possession  of  my  estate  to  swell  their  own 
territorial  grandeur.  In  process  of  time  I  married  and  had 
a  child.  I  believed  that  I  was  picked  out  from  my  race  as 
a  fortunate  man  —  when  one  night  I  was  attacked  by  rob- 

3* 


58  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

bers:  slaves  made  desperate  by  the  cruelty  of  their  wealthy 
masters.  They  ravaged  my  corn-fields,  they  deprived  me 
of  my  flocks.  When  I  demanded  redress,  I  was  told  to  sell 
my  lands  to  those  who  could  defend  them  —  to  those  rich 
nobles  whose  tyranny  had  organized  the  band  of  wretches 
who  had  spoiled  me  of  my  possessions,  and  to  whose  fraud- 
gotten  treasures  the  Government  were  well  pleased  to  grant 
that  protection  which  they  had  denied  to  my  honest  hoards. 
In  my  pride  I  determined  that  I  would  still  be  independent. 
I  planted  new  crops.  With  the  little  remnant  of  my  money 
I  hired  fresh  servants  and  bought  more  flocks.  I  had  just 
recovered  from  my  first  disaster,  when  I  became  the  victim 
of  a  second.  I  was  again  attacked.  This  time  we  had  arms, 
and  we  attempted  to  defend  ourselves.  My  wife  was  slain 
before  my  eyes;  my  house  was  burned  to  the  ground;  I  my- 
self only  escaped,  mutilated  with  wounds;  my  child  soon 
afterward  pined  and  died.  I  had  no  wife,  no  oiFspring,  no 
liouse,  no  mon<!y.  My  fields  still  stretched  round  me,  but  I 
had  none  to  cultivate  them.  My  walls  still  tottered  at  my 
feet,  but  I  had  none  to  rear  them  again — none  to  inhabit 
them  if  they  were  reared.  My  father's  lands  were  now  be- 
come a  wilderness  to  me.  I  was  too  proud  to  sell  them  to 
my  rich  neighbor;  I  preferred  to  leave  them  before  I  saw 
them  the  prey  of  a  tyrant,  whose  rank  had  triumphed  over 
my  industry,  arjd  who  is  now  able  to  boast  that  he  can 
travel  over  ten  leagues  of  senatorial  property  untainted  by 
the  propinquity  of  a  husbandman's  farm.  Houseless,  home- 
less, friendless,  I  have  come  to  Rome  alone  in  my  affliction, 
helpless  in  ray  degradation !  Do  you  wonder  now  that  I 
am  careless  about  the  honor  of  my  country?  I  would  have 
served  her  with  my  life  and  my  possessions  when  she  was 
worthy  of  my  service;  but  she' has  cast  me  off*,  and  I  care 
not  who  conquers  her.  I  say  to  the  Goths — with  thousands 
who  suffer  the  same  tribulation  that  I  now  undergo — '  Enter 
our  gates  i  Level  our  palaces  to  the  ground !  Confound, 
if  you  will,  in  one  common  slaughter,  we  that  are  victims 
with  those  that  are  tyrants!  Your  invasion  will  bring  new 
lords  to  the  land.  They  can  not  crush  it  more — they  may 
oppress  it  less.  Our  posterity  may  gain  their  rights  by  the 
sacrifice  of  lives  that  our  country  has  made  worthless.  Ro- 
mans though  we  are,  we  are  ready  to  suffer  and  submit !' " 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  59 

He  stopped ;  for  by  this  time  he  had  lashed  himself  into 
fury.  His  eyes  glared,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  voice  rose. 
Could  he  then  have  seen  the  faintest  vision  of  the  destiny 
that  future  ages  had  in  store  for  the  posterity  of  the  race 
that  now  suffered  throughout  civilized  Europe,  like  him — 
could  he  have  imagined  how,  in  after  years,  the  "  middle 
class,"  despised  in  his  day,  was  to  rise  to  privilege  and  pow- 
er; to  hold  in  its  just  hands  the  balance  of  the  prospei-ity 
of  nations ;  to  crush  oppression  and  regulate  rule;  to  soar 
in  its  mighty  flight  above  thrones  and  principalities,  and 
ranks  and  riches,  apparently  obedient,  but  really  command- 
ing—  could  he  but  have  foreboded  this,  what  a  light  must 
have  burst  upon  his  gloom,  what  a  hope  must  have  soothed 
him  in  his  despair ! 

To  what  further  extremities  his  anger  might  have  carried 
him,  to  what  proceedings  the  indignant  Gordian,  who  still 
listened  from  his  concealment,  might  have  had  recourse,  it 
is  difticult  to  say ;  for  the  complaints  of  the  ill-fated  land- 
holder and  the  cogitations' of  the  authoritative  bailiff  were 
alike  suddenly  suspended  by  an  uproar  raging  at  this  mo- 
ment round  a  carriage  which  had  just  emerged  from  the 
palace  we  have  elsewhere  described. 

This  vehicle  looked  one  mass  of" silver.  Embroidered  silk 
curtains  fluttered  all  around  it,  gold  ornaments  studded  its 
polished  sides,  and  it  held  no  less  a  person  than  the  noble- 
man who  had  feasted  the  people  with  baskets  of  meat.  This 
fact  had  become  known  to  the  rabble  before  the  palace 
gates.  Such  an  opportunity  of  showing  their  exultation  in 
their  bondage,  their  real  servility  in  their  imaginary  inde- 
pendence, was  not  to  be  lost;  and  accordingly  they  let  loose 
such  a  torrent  of  clamorous  gratitude  on  their  entertainer's 
appearance,  that  a  stranger  in  Rome  would  have  thought 
.the  city  in  revolt.  They  leaped,  they  ran,  they  danced 
round  the  prancing  horses,  they  flung  their  empty  baskets 
into  the  air,  and  patted  approvingly  their  "fair  round  bel- 
lies," From  every  side,  as  the  carriage  moved  on,  they 
gained  fresh  recruits  and  acquired  new  importance.  The 
timid  fled  before  them,  the  noisy  shouted  with  them,  the 
bold  plunged  into  their  ranks;  and  the  constant  burden  of 
their  rejoicing  chorus  was — "Health  to  the  noble  Pompo- 
nius !     Prosperity  to  the  senators  of  Rome,  who  feast   us 


60  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

with  their  food,  and  give  us  the  freedom  of  their  theatres ! 
Glory  to  Pomponius !     Glory  to  the  senators  !" 

Fate  seemed  on  this  day  to  take  ]»leasure  in  pampering 
the  insatiable  curiosity  of  Gordian,  the  bailiff.  The  cries  of 
the  multitude  had  scarcely  died  away  in  the  distance,  as 
they  followed  the  departing  carriage,  when  the  voices  of  two 
men,  pitched  to  a  low,  confidential  tone,  reached  his  ear  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  pillar.  He  peeped  cautiously  round, 
and  saw  that  they  were  priests. 

"  What  an  eternal  jester  is  that  Pomponius  !"  said  one 
voice.  "He  is  going  to  receive  absolution,  and  he  journeys 
in  his  chariot  of  state  as  if  he  were  preparing  to  celebrate  his 
triumph,  instead  of  to  confess  his  sins  !" 

"Has  he  committed,  then,  a  fresh  imprudence?" 

"Alas,  yes!  For  a  senator  he  is  dreadfully  wanting  in 
caution !  A  few  days  since,  in  a  fit  of  passion,  he  flung  a 
drinking-cup  at  one  of  his  female  slaves.  The  girl  died  on 
the  spot,  and  her  brother,  who  is  also  in  his  service,  threat- 
ened immediate  vengeance.  To  prevent  disagreeable  conse- 
quences to  his  body,  Pomponius  has  sent  the  fellow  to  his 
estates  in  Egypt ;  and  now,  from  the  same  precaution  for 
the  welfare  of  his  soul,  he  goes  to  demand  absolution  from 
our  holy  and  beneficent  Church." 

"  I  am  afraid  these  incessant  absolutions,  granted  to  men 
who  are  too  careless  even  to  make  a  show  of  repentance  for 
their  crimes,  will  prejudice  us  with  the  people  at  large." 

"  Of  what  consequence  are  the  sentiments  of  the  people 
while  we  have  their  rulers  on  our  side  ?  Absolution  is  the 
sorcery  that  binds  these  libertines  of  Rome  to  our  will. 
We  know  what  converted  Constantine — politic  flattery  and 
ready  al^^olution;  the  people  will  tell  you  it  was  the  sign 
of  the  Cross." 

"  It  is  true  this  Pomponius  is  rich,  and  may  increase  our, 
revenues,  but  still  I  fear  the  indignation  of  the  people." 

"Fear  nothing;  think  how  long  their  old  institutions  im- 
posed on  them,  and  then  doubt,  if  yon  can,  that  we  may 
shape  them  to  our  wishes  as  we  will.  Any  deceptions  will 
be  successful  with  a  mob,  if  the  instrument  employed  to  for- 
ward them  be  a  religion." 

The  voices  ceased.  Gordian,  who  still  cherished  a  vague 
intention  of  denouncing  the  fugitive  land-holder  to  the  sena- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  61 

tonal  authorities,  employed  the  liberty  afforded  to  his  at- 
tention by  the  silence  of  the  priests  in  turning  to  look  after 
his  intended  victim.  To  his  surprise  he  saw  that  the  man 
had  Ifift  the  auditors  to  whom  he  had  before  addressed  him- 
self, and  was  engaged  in  earnest  conversation,  in  another 
part  of  the  portico,  with  an  individual  who  seemed  to  have 
recently  joined  him,  and  whose  appearance  was  so  remarka- 
ble that  the  bailiff  had  moved  a  few  steps  forward  to  gain  a 
nearer  view  of  him,  when  he  was  once  more  arrested  by  the 
voices  of  the  priests. 

Irresolute  for  an  instant  to  which  party  to  devote  his 
unscrupulous  attention,  he  returned  mechanically  to  his  old 
position.  Ere  long,  however,  his  anxiety  to  he:ir  the  mys- 
terious communications  proceeding  between  the  land-holder 
and  his  friend  overbalanced  his  delight  in  penetrating  the 
theological  secrets  of  the  priests.  He  turned  once  more,  but 
to  his  astonishment  the  objects  of  his  curiosity  had  disap- 
peared. He  stepped  to  the  outside  of  the  portico  and  look- 
ed for  thetn  in  every  direction,  but  they  were  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  Peevish  and  disappointed,  he  returned  as  a  last  re- 
source to  the  pillar  where  he  had  left  the  priests,  but  the 
time  consumed  in  his  investigations  after  one  party  had  been 
fatal  to  his  reunion  with  the  other.  The  churchmen  were  gone. 

Sufficiently  punished  for  his  curiosity  by  his  disappoint- 
ment, the  bailiff  walked  doggedly  off  toward  the  Pincian 
Hill.  Had  he  turned  in  the  contrary  direction,  toward  the 
Basilica  of  St.  Peter,  he  would  have  found  himself  once  more 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  land-holder  and  his  remarkable 
friend,  and  would  have  gained  that  acquaintance  with  the 
s\ibjects  of  their  conversation  which  we  intend  that  the 
reader  shall  acquire  in  the  course  of  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CHURCH. 

In  the  year  324,  on  the  locality  assigned  by  rumor  to  the 
martyrdom  of  St.  Peter,  and  over  the  ruins  of  the  Circus  of 
Nero,  Constantino  erected  the  church  called  the  Basilica  of 
St.  Peter. 


62  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome. 

For  twelve  centuries,  this  building,  raised  by  a  man  infa- 
mous for  his  murders  and  his  tyrannies,  stood  uninjured 
amidst  the  shocks  which  during  that  long  period  devastated 
the  rest  of  the  city.  After  that  time  it  was  removed,  tot- 
tering to  its  base  from  its  own  reverend  and  illustrious  age, 
by  Pope  Julius  II.,  to  make  way  for  the  foundations  of  the 
modern  church. 

It  is  toward  this  structure  of  twelve  hundred  years'  dura- 
tion, erected  by  hands  stained  with  blood,  and  yet  preserved 
as  a  star  of  peace  in  the  midst  of  stormy  centuries  of  war, 
that  we  would  direct  the  reader's  attention.  What  art  has 
done  for  the  modern  church,  time  has  effected  for  the  an- 
cient. If  the  one  is  majestic  to  the  eye  by  its  grandeur, 
the  other  is  hallowed  to  the  memory  by  its  age. 

As  this  church  by  its  rise  commemorated  the  triumphant 
establishment  of  Christianity  as  the  religion  of  Rome,  so  in 
its  progress  it  reflected  every  change  wrought  in  the  spirit 
of  the  new  worship  by  the  ambition,  the  prodigality,  or  the 
frivolity  of  the  priests.  At  first  it  stood  awful  and  impos- 
ing, beautiful  in  all  its  parts  as  the  religion  for  whose  glory 
it  was  built.  Vast  porphyry  colonnades  decorated  its  ap- 
proaches, and  surrounded  a  fountain  whose  waters  issued 
from  the  representation  of  a  gigantic  pine-tree  in  bronze. 
Its  double  rows  of  aisles  were  each  supported  by  forty-eight 
columns  of  precious  marble.  Its  flat  ceiling  was  adorned 
with  beams  of  gilt  metal,  rescued  from  the  pollution  of 
heathen  temples.  Its  walls  were  decorated  with  large  paint- 
ings of  religious  subjects,  and  its  tribunal  was  studded  with 
elegant  mosaics.  Thus  it  rose,  simple  and  yet  sublime,  aw- 
ful and  yet  alluring  —  in  this  its  beginning,  a  type  of  tlie 
dawn  of  the  worship  which  it  was  elevated  to  represent. 
But  when,  flushed  with  success,  the  priests  seized  on  Chris- 
tianity as  their  path  to  politics  and  their  introduction  to 
power,  the  aspect  of  the  Church  gradually  began  to  change. 
As,  slowly  and  insensibly,  ambitious  man  heaped  the  gar- 
bage of  his  mysteries,  his  doctrines,  and  his  disputes,  about 
the  pristine  purity  of  the  structure  given  him  by  God,  so, 
one  by  one,  gaudy  adornments  and  meretricious  alterations 
arose  to  sully  the  majestic  Basilica  until  the  threatening  and 
reproving  apparition  of  the  Pagan  Julian,  when  both  Church 
and  churchmen  received  in  their  corrupt  progress  a  sudden 
and  impressive  check. 


AXTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  BOMB.  63 

The  short  period  of  the  revival  of  idolatry  once  passed 
over,  the  priests,  unmoved  by  the  warning  they  had  received, 
returned  with  renewed  vigor  to  confuse  that  which  both  in 
their  Gospel  and  their  Church  had  been  once  simple.  Day 
by  day  they  put  forth  fresh  treatises,  aroused  fierce  contro- 
versies, subsided  into  new  sects;  and  day  by  day  they  al- 
tered more  and  more  the  once  noble  aspect  of  the  ancient 
Basilica.  They  hung  their  nauseous  relics  on  its  mighty 
walls,  they  stuck  their  tiny  tapers  about  its  glorious  pillars; 
they  wreathed  their  tawdry  fringes  around  its  massive  al- 
tars. Here  they  polished,  there  they  embroidered.  Wher- 
ever there  was  a  window,  they  curtained  it  with  gaudy  cloths ; 
wherever  there  was  a  statue,  they  bedizened  it  with  artificial 
flowers;  wherever  there  was  a  solemn  recess,  they  outraged 
its  religious  gloom  with  intruding  light ;  until  (arriving  at 
the  period  we  write  of)  they  succeeded  so  completely  in 
changing  the  aspect  of  the  building,  that  it  looked  within 
more  like  a  vast  Pagan  toy-shop  than  a  Christian  church. 
Here  and  there,  it  is  true,  a  pillar  or  an  altar  rose  unencum- 
bered as  of  old,  appearing  as  much  at  variance  with  the  frip- 
pery that  surrounded  it,  as  a  text  of  Scripture  quoted  in  a 
sermon  of  the  time.  But  as  regarded  the  general  aspect  of 
the  Basilica,  the  decent  glories  of  its  earlier  days  seemed  ir- 
revocably departed  and  destroyed. 

After  what  has  been  said  of  the  edifice,  the  reader  will 
have  little  difticulty  in  imagining  that  the  square  in  which  it 
stood  lost  whatever  elevation  of  character  it  might  once  have 
possessed,  with  even  greater  rapidity  than  the  church  itself. 
If  the  cathedral  now  looked  like  an  immense  toy-shop,  as- 
suredly its  attendant  colonnades  had  the  appearance  of  the 
booths  of  an  enormous  fair. 

The  day,  whose  decline  we  have  hinted  at  in  the  preced- 
ing chapter,  was  fast  verging  toward  its  close,  as  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  streets  on  the  western  bank  of  the  Tiber  pre- 
pared to  join  the  crowds  that  they  beheld  passing  by  their 
windows,  in  the  direction  of  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter.  The 
cause  of  this  sudden  confluence  of  the  popular  current  in  one 
common  direction  was  made  sufticiently  apparent  to  all  in- 
quirers who  happened  to  be  near  a  church  or  a  public  build- 
ing, by  the  appearance  in  such  situations  of  a  large  sheet 
of  vellum  elaborately  illuminated,  raised  on  a  high  pole,  and 


64  ANTONINA ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

guarded  from  contact  with  the  inquisitive  rabble  by  two 
armed  soldiers.  The  announcements  set  forth  in  these 
strange  placards  were  all  of  the  same  nature  and  directed  to 
the  same  end.  In  each  of  them  the  Bishop  of  Rome  inform- 
ed his  "  pious  and  honorable  brethren,"  the  inhabitants  of  the 
city,  that  as  the  next  day  was  the  anniversary  of  the  Martyr- 
dom of  St.  Luke,  the  vigil  would  necessarily  be  held  on  that 
evening  in  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter;  and  that,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  importance  of  the  occasion,  there  would  be  exhib- 
ited, before  the  commencement  of  the  ceremony,  those  pre- 
cious relics  connected  with  the  death  of  the  saint  which  had 
become  the  inestimable  inheritance  of  the  Church  ;  and  which 
consisted  of  a  branch  of  the  olive-tree  to  which  St.  Luke  was 
hung,  a  piece  of  the  noose — including  the  knot — which  had 
been  passed  round  his  neck,  and  a  picture  of  the  Apotheosis 
of  the  Virgin  painted  by  his  own  hand.  After  some  sen- 
tences expressive  of  lamentation  for  the  sufferings  of  the 
saint,  which  nobody  read,  and  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  re- 
produce here,  the  proclamation  went  on  to  state  that  a  ser- 
mon would  be  preached  in  the  course  of  the  vigil,  and  that 
at  a  later  hour  the  great  chandelier,  containing  two  thousand 
four  hundred  lamps,  wouldbe  lighted  to  illuminate  the  church. 
Finally,  the  worthy  bishop  called  upon  all  members  of  his 
flock,  in  consideration  of  the  solemnity  of  the  day,  to  abstain 
from  sensual  pleasures,  in  order  that  they  might  the  more 
piously  and  worthily  contemplate  the  sacred  objects  sub- 
mitted to  their  view,  and  digest  the  spiritual  nourishment 
to  be  offered  to  their  understandings. 

From  the  specimen  we  have  already  given  of  the  character 
of  the  populace  of  Rome,  it  will  perhaps  be  unnecessary  to 
say  that  the  great  attractions  presented  by  this  theological 
bill  of  fare  were  the  relics  and  the  chandelier.  Pulpit  elo- 
quence and  vigil  solemnities  alone  must  have  long  exhibited 
their  more  sober  allurements  before  they  could  have  drawn 
into  the  streets  a  fiftieth  part  of  the  immense  crowd  that  now 
hurried  toward  the  desecrated  Basilica.  Indeed,  so  vast  was 
the  assemblage  soon  congregated,  that  the  advanced  ranks 
of  sight-seers  had  already  filled  the  church  to  overflowing, 
before  those  in  the  rear  had  come  within  view  of  the  colon- 
nades. 

However  dissatisfied  the  unsuccessful  portion  of  the  citi- 


ANTOXINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  KOME.  65 

zens  might  feel  at  their  exchision  from  the  church,  they  found 
a  powerful  counter-attraction  in  the  amusements  going  for- 
ward in  the  Place,  the  occupants  of  which  seemed  thorough- 
ly regardless  of  the  bishop's  admonitions  upon  the  sobriety 
of  behavior  due  to  the  solemnity  of  the  day.  As  if  in  utter 
defiance  of  the  decency  and  order  recommended  by  the  cler- 
gy, popular  exhibitions  of  all  sorts  were  set  up  on  the  broad 
flag-stones  of  the  great  space  before  the  church.  Street 
dancing-girls  exercised  at  every  available  spot  those  "  glid- 
ing gyrations,"  so  eloquently  condemned  by  the  worthy 
Ammianus  Marcellinus  of  orderly  and  historical  rnemory. 
Booths  crammed  with  relics  of  doubtful  authenticity;  bas- 
kets tilled  with  neat  manuscript  abstracts  of  furiously  con- 
troversial pamphlets ;  Pagan  images  regenerated  into  por- 
traits of  saints  ;  pictonal  representations  of  Ariaiis  writh- 
ing in  damnation,  and  martyrs  basking  in  halos  of  celestial 
light,  tempted,  in  every  direction,  the  more  pious  among  the 
spectators.  Cooks  perambulated  with  their  shops  on  their 
backs;  rival  slave  merchants  shouted  petitions  for  patron- 
age ;  wine-sellers  taught  Bacchanalian  philosophy  from  the 
tops  of  their  casks ;  poets  recited  compositions  for  sale  ;  soph- 
isters  held  arguments  destined  to  convert  the  wavering  and 
perplex  the  ignorant.  Incessant  motion  and  incessant  noise 
seemed  to  be  the  sole  compensations  sought  by  the  multi- 
tude for  the  disappointment  of  exclusion  from  the  church. 
If  a  stranger,  after  reading  the  proclamation  of  the  daj',  had 
proceeded  to  the  Basilica  to  feast  his  eyes  on  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  illustrious  aggregate  of  humanity,  entitled  by  the 
bishop  "  his  pious  and  honorable  brethien,"  he  must — on 
mixing  at  this  moment  with  the  assemblage — have  either 
doubted  the  truth  of  the  episcopal  appellation,  or  have  giv- 
en the  citizens  credit  for  that  refinement  of  intrinsic  worth 
which  is  of  too  elevated  a  nature  to  influence  the  character 
of  the  outward  man. 

At  the  time  when  the  sun  set,  nothing  could  be  more  pic- 
turesque than  the  distant  view  of  this  jo3^ous  scene.  The 
deep  red  rays  of  the  departing  luminary  cast  their  radiance, 
partly  from  behind  the  church,  over  the  vast  multitude  in 
the  Place.  Brightly  and  rapidly  the  rich  light  roved  over 
the  waters  that  leaped  toward  it  from  the  fountain  in  all 
the  loveliness  of  natural  and  evanescent  form.     Bathed  in 


66  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

that  brilliant  glow,  the  smooth  porphyry  colonnades  reflect- 
ed, chameleon-like,  ethereal  and  varying  hues;  the  white  mar- 
ble statues  became  suflfused  in  a  delicate  rose-color,  and  the 
sober- tinted  trees  gleamed  in  the  innermost  of  their  leafy 
depths  as  if  steeped  in  the  exhalations  of  a  golden  "mist. 
While,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  wondrous  radiance 
around  them,  the  huge  bronze  pine-tree  in  the  middle  of  the 
Place,  and  the  wide  front  of  the  Bassilica,  rose  up  in  gloomy 
shadow,  indefinite  and  exaggerated,  lowering  like  evil  spirits 
over  the  joyous  beauty  of  the  rest  of  the  scene,  and  casting 
their  great  depths  of  shade  into  the  midst  of  the  light  whose 
dominion  they  despised.  Beheld  from  a  distatice,  this  wild 
combination  of  vivid  brightness  and  solemn  gloom;  these 
buildings,  at  one  place  darkened  till  they  looked  gigantic,  at 
another  lightened  till  they  appeared  ethereal ;  these  crowd- 
ed groups,  seeming  one  great  moving  mass  gleaming  at  this 
point  in  radiant  light,  obscured  at  that  in  thick  shadow, 
made  up  a  whole  so  incongruous  and  yet  so  beautiful,  so 
grotesque  and  yet  so  sublime,  that  the  scene  looked  for  the 
moment  more  like  some  inhabited  meteor,  half  eclipsed  by  its 
propinquity  to  earth,  than  a  mortal  and  material  prospect. 

The  beauties  of  this  atmospheric  effect  were  of  far  too 
serious  and  sublime  a  nature  to  interest  the  multitude  in 
the  Place.  Out  of  the  whole  assemblage,  but  two  men 
watched  that  glorious  sunset  with  even  an  appearance  of 
the  admiration  and  attention  which  it  deserved.  One  was 
the  land-holder  whose  wrongs  were  related  in  the  preceding 
chapter  ;  the  other  his  remarkable  friend. 

These  two  men  formed  a  singular  contrast  to  each  other, 
both  in  demeanor  and  appearance,  as  they  gazed  forth  upon 
the  cri.mson  heaven.  The  land-holder  was  an  under-sized, 
restless-looking  man,  whose  features,  naturally  sharp,  were 
now  distorted  by  a  fixed  expression  of  misery  and  discon- 
tent. His  quick,  penetrating  glance  wandered  incessantly 
from  place  to  place,  perceiving  all  things,  but  resting  on 
none.  In  his  attention  to  the  scene  before  him,  he  appeared 
to  have  been  led  more  by  the  influence  of  example  than  by 
his  own  spontaneous  feelings ;  for  ever  and  anon  he  looked 
impatiently  round  upon  his  friend  as  if  expecting  him  to 
speak  —  but  no  word  or  movement  escaped  his  thoughtful 
companion.      Occupied   e.vclusively   in   his  own   contempla- 


antoxina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  67 

tions,  he  appeared  wholly  insensible  to  any  ordinary  out- 
ward appeal. 

In  age  and  appearance  this  individual  was  in  the  decline  of 
life;  for  he  had  numbered  sixty  years,  his  hair  was  complete- 
ly gray,  and  his  face  was  covered  with  deep  wrinkles.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  these  disadvantages,  he  was  in  the  highest  sense 
of  the  word  a  handsome  man.  Though  worn  and  thin,  his 
features  were  still  bold  and  regular;  and  there  was  an  eleva-. 
tion  about  the  habitual  mournfulness  of  his  expression,  and 
an  intelligence  about  his  somewhat  severe  and  earnest  eyes, 
that  bore  eloquent  testimony  to  the  superiority  of  his  intel- 
lectual powers.  As  he  now  stood  gazing  fixedly  out  into 
the  glowing  sky,  his  tall,  meagre  figure  half  supported  upon 
his  staff",  his  lips  firmly  compressed,  his  brow  slightly  frown- 
ing, and  his  attitude  firm  and  motioidess ;  the  most  superfi- 
cial obsei'ver  must  have  felt  immediately  that  he  looked  on 
no  ordinary  being.  The  history  of  a  life  of  deep  thought — 
perhaps  of  long  sorrow — seemed  written  in  every  lineament 
of  his  meditative  countenance  ;  and  there  was  a  natural  dig- 
nity in  his  manner,  which  evidently  restrained  his  restless 
companion  from  offering  any  determined  interruption  to  the 
course  of  his  reffections. 

Slowly  and  gorgeously  the  sun  had  continued  to  wane  in 
the  horizon  until  he  was  now  lost  to  view.  As  his  last  rays 
sunk  behind  the  distant  hills,  the  stranger  started  from  his 
reverie  and  approached  the  land-holder,  pointing  with  his 
staff' toward  the  fast-fading  brightness  of  the  western  sky. 

"  Probus,"  said  he,  in  a  low,  melancholy  voice,  "  as  I  look- 
ed on  that  sunset,  I  thought  on  the  condition  of  the  Church." 

"  I  see  little  in  the  Church  to  think  of,  or  in  the  sunset  to 
observe,"  replied  his  companion. 

"  How  pure,  how  vivid,"  murmured  the  other,  scarcely 
heeding  the  land-holder's  remark, "  was  the  light  which  that 
sun  cast  upon  this  earth  at  our  feet !  How  nobly  for  a  time 
its  brightness  triumphed  over  the  shadows  around;  and  yet, 
in  spite  of  the  promise  of  that  radiance,  how  swiftly  did  it 
fade  ere  long  in  its  conflict  with  the  gloom — how  thorough- 
ly, even  now,  has  it  departed  from  the  earth,  and  withdrawn 
the  beauty  of  its  glory  from  the  heaven  !  Already  the  shad- 
ows are  lengthening  ar(Mind  us,  and  shrouding  in  their  dark- 
ness every  object   in  the  Place.     But   a  short  hour  hence, 


68  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

and — should  no  moon  arise — the  gloom  of  night  will  stretch 
unresisted  over  Home  !" 

"To  what  purpose  do  you  tell  me  this?" 

"Are  you  not  reminded,  by  what  we  have  observed,  of 
the  course  of  the  worship  which  it  is  our  privilege  to  pro- 
fess? Does  not  that  first  V»eautiful  light  denote  its  )»ure  and 
perfect  rise;  that  short  conflict  between  the  radiance  and 
the  gloom,  its  successful  preservation  by  the  Apostles  and 
the  Fathers;  that  rapid  fading  of  the  radiance,  its  desecra- 
tion in  later  times;  and  the  gloom  which  now  surrounds  us, 
the  destruction  which  has  encompassed  it  in  this  age  we 
live  in? — a  destruction  which  nothing  can  avert  but  a  re- 
turn to  that  pure  first  faith  that  should  now  be  the  hope  of 
our  religion,  as  the  moon  is  the  hope  of  night !" 

"How  should  we  refoi'm  ?  Do  people  who  have  no  liber- 
ties care  about  a  religion  ?     Who  is  to  teach  them  ?" 

"I  have — I  will.  It  is  the  purpose  of  my  life  to  restore 
to  them  the  holiness  of  the  ancient  Church  ;  to  rescue  them 
from  the  snares  of  traitors  to  the  faith,  whom  men  call 
priests.  They  shall  learn  through  me  that  the  Church  knew 
no  adornment  once  but  the  presence  of  the  pure ;  that  the 
priest  craved  no  finer  vestment  than  his  holiness;  that  the 
Gospel,  which  once  taught  humility  and  now  raises  dispute, 
was  in  former  days  the  rule  of  faiih — suflScient  for  all  wants, 
powerful  over  all  difliicnlties.  Through  me  they  shall  know 
that  in  times  past  it  was  the  guardian  of  the  heart ;  through 
me  they  shall  see  that  in  times  present  it  is  the  plaything 
of  the  proud ;  through  me  they  shall  fear  that  in  times  fu- 
ture it  may  become  the  exile  of  the  Church  !  To  this  task 
I  have  vowed  myself;  to  overthrow  this  idolatry — which, 
like  another  paganism,  rises  among  us  with  its  images,  its 
relics,  its  jewels,  and  its  gold — I  will  devote  my  child,  my 
life,  my  energies,  and  ray  possessions.  From  this  attempt 
I  will  never  turn  aside — from  this  determination  I  will  nev- 
er flinch.  While  I  have  a  breath  of  life  in  me,  I  will  perse- 
vere in  restoring  to  this  abandoned  city  the  true  worship  of 
the  Most  High  !" 

He  ceased  abruptly.  The  intensity  of  his  agitation  seem- 
ed suddenly  to  deny  to  him  the  faculty  of  speech.  Every 
muscle  in  the  frame  of  that  stern,  melancholy  man  quivered 
at  lue  immortal  promptings  of  the  soul  within  him.     There 


ANTONINA;  or,  the  fall  of  ROME.  69 

was  something  almost  feminine  in  his  universal  susceptibili- 
ty to  tlie  influence  of  one  solitary  emotion.  Even  the  rough, 
desperate  land-liolder  felt  awed  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  be- 
ing before  him,  and  forgot  his  wrongs,  terrible  as  they  were 
— and  his  misery,  poignant  as  it  was — as  be  gazed  upon  his 
companion's  face. 

For  some  minutes  neither  of  the  men  said  more.  Soon, 
however,  the  last  speaker  calmed  his  agitation  with  the  fa- 
cility of  a  man  accustomed  to  stifle  the  emotions  that  he  can 
not  crush,  and  advancing  to  the  land-holder,  took  him  sor- 
rowfully by  the  hand. 

"I  see,  Probus,  that  I  have  amazed  you,"  said  he;  "but 
the  Church  is  the  only  subject  on  which  I  have  no  discretion. 
In  all  other  matters  I  have  conquered  the  rashness  of  ray 
early  manhood  ;  in  this  I  have  to  wrestle  with  my  hastier 
nature  still.  When  I  look  on  the  mockeries  that  are  acting 
around  us;  when  I  behold  a  priesthood  deceivers,  a  people 
deluded,  a  religion  defiled,  then,  I  confess  it,  my  indigna- 
tion overpowers  my  patience,  and  I  burn  to  destroy  where 
I  ought  only  to  hope  to  reform." 

"I  knew  you  always  violent  of  imagination  ;  but  when  I 
hist  saw  you,  your  enthusiasm  was  love.     Your  wife — " 

"Peace!     She  deceived  me!" 

"  Your  child—" 

"  Lives  with  me  at  Rome." 

"  I  remember  her  an  infant,  when,  fourteen  years  since,  I 
was  your  neighbor  in  Gaul.  On  my  departure  from  the 
province,  you  had  just  returned  from  a  journey  into  Italy, 
unsuccessful  in  your  attempts  to  discover  there  a  trace  ei- 
ther of  your  parents,  or  of  that  elder  brother  whose  absence 
you  were  wont  so  continually  to  lament.  Tell  me,  have  you, 
since  that  period,  discovered  the  members  of  your  ancient 
household?  Hitherto  you  have  been  so  occupied  in  listen- 
ing to  the  history  of  my  wrongs,  that  you  have  scarcely 
spoken  of  the  changes  in  your  life  since  we  last  met." 

"  If,  Probus,  I  have  been  silent  to  you  concerning  myself, 
it  is  because  for  me  retrospection  has  little  that  attracts. 
While  yet  it  was  in  my  power  to  return  to  those  parents 
whom  I  deserted  in  my  boyhood,  I  thought  not  of  repent- 
ance; and  now,  that  they  must  be  but  too  surely  lost  to  me, 
my  yearning  toward  them  is  of  no  avail.     Of  my  brother, 


70  ANTOXINA  ;    OB,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

from  whom  I  parted  in  a  moment  of  childish  jealousy  and 
anger,  and  whose  pardon  and  love  I  would  give  up  even  my 
ambition  to  acquire,  I  have  never  yet  discovered  a  trace. 
Atonement  to  those  whom  I  injured  in  early  life  is  a  privi- 
lege denied  to  the  prayers  of  my  age.  From  my  parents 
and  my  brother  I  departed  unblessed,  and,  unforgiven  by 
them,  I  feel  that  I  am  doomed  to  die !  ]\[y  life  has  been 
careless,  useless,  godless,  passing  from  rapine  and  violence  to 
luxury  and  indolence,  and  leading  me  to  the  marriage  which 
I  exulted  in  when  I  last  saw  you,  but  which  I  now  feel  was 
unworthy,  alike  in  its  motives  and  its  results.  But  blessed 
and  thrice  blessed  be  that  last  calamity  of  my  wicked  exist- 
ence, for  it  opened  my  eyes  to  the  truth — it  made  a  Chris- 
tian of  me  while  I  was  yet  alive  !" 

"Is  it  thus  that  the  Christian  can  view  his  afflictions?  I 
would,  then,  that  I  were  a  Christian  like  you !"  murmured 
the  land-holder  in  low,  earnest  tones. 

"It  was  in  those  first  days, Probus,"  continued  the  other, 
"when  I  found  myself  deserted  and  dishonored,  left  alone  to 
be  the  guardian  of  my  helpless  child,  exiled  forever  from  a 
home  that  I  had  myself  forsaken,  that  I  repented  me  in  ear- 
nest of  my  misdeeds,  that  I  sought  wisdom  from  the  Book 
of  Salvation,  and  the  conduct  of  life  from  the  Fathers  of  the 
Church.  It  was  at  that  time  that  I  determined  to  devote 
my  child,  like  Samuel  of  old,  to  the  service  of  Heaven,  and 
myself  to  the  reformation  of  our  degraded  worship.  As  I 
have  already  told  you,  I  forsook  my  abode  and  changed  my 
name  (remember,  it  is  as  '■Numerian^  that  you  must  hence- 
forth address  me),  that  of  my  former  self  no  remains  might 
be  left,  that  of  my  former  companions  not  one  might  ever 
discover  and  tempt  me  again.  With  incessant  care  have  I 
shielded  my  daughter  from  the  contamination  of  the  world. 
As  a  precious  jewel  in  a  miser's  hands  she  has  been  watched 
and  guarded  in  her  father's  house.  Her  destiny  is  to  soothe 
the  afflicted,  to  watch  the  sick,  to  succor  the  forlorn,  when 
I,  her  teacher,  have  restored  to  the  land  the  dominion  of  its 
ancient  faith,  and  the  guidance  of  its  faultless  Gospel.  We 
have  neither  of  us  an  affection  or  a  hope  that  can  bind  us  to 
the  things  of  earth.  Our  hearts  look  both  toward  Heaven; 
our  expectations  are  only  from  on  high  1" 

"Do  not  set  your  hopes  too  firmly  on  your  child.     Re- 


ANTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  71 

member  how  the  nobles  of  Rome  have  destroyed  the  house- 
hold I  once  had,  and  tremble  for  your  own." 

"I  have  no  fear  for  my  daughter;  she  is  cared  for  in  my 
absence  by  one  who  is  vowed  to  aid  me  in  my  labors  for  the 
Church.  It  is  now  nearly  a  year  since  I  first  met  Ulpius, 
and  from  that  time  forth  he  has  devoted  himself  to  my  serv- 
ice and  watched  over  my  child." 

"  Who  is  this  Ulpius,  that  you  should  put  such  faith  in 
him?" 

"  He  is  a  man  of  age  like  mine.  I  found  him,  like  me, 
worn  down  by  the  calamities  of  his  early  life,  and  abandon- 
ed, as  I  had  once  been,  to  the  delusions  of  the  Pagan  gods. 
He  was  desolate,  suffering,  forlorn,  and  I  had  pity  on  him  in 
his  misery.  I  proved  to  him  that  the  worship  he  still  pro- 
fessed was  banished  for  its  iniquities  from  the  land;  that 
the  religion  which  had  succeeded  it  had  become  defiled 
by  man,  and  that  there  remained  but  one  faith  for  him  to 
choose,  if  he  would  be  saved — the  faith  of  the  early  Church. 
He  heard  me  and  was  converted.  From  that  moment  he 
has  served  me  patiently  and  helped  me  willingly.  Under  the 
roof  where  I  assemble  the  few  who  as  yet  are  true  believers, 
he  is  always  the  first  to  come  and  the  last  to  remain.  No 
word  of  anger  has  ever  crossed  his  lips — no  look  of  impa- 
tience has  ever  appeared  in  his  eyes.  Though  sorrowful,  he 
is  gentle;  though  suffering,  he  is  industrious.  I  have  trust- 
ed him  with  all  I  possess,  and  I  glory  in  my  credulity  !  Ul- 
pius is  incorruptible!" 

"And  your  daughter? — is  Ulpius  reverenced  by  her,  as 
he  is  respected  by  you  ?" 

"She  knows  that  her  duty  is  to  love  whom  I  love,  and 
to  avoid  whom  I  avoid.  Can  you  imagine  that  a  Christian 
virgin  lias  any  feelings  disobedient  to  her  father's  wishes? 
Come  to  my  house  ;  judge  with  your  own  eyes  of  my  daugh- 
ter and  my  companion.  You,  whose  misfortunes  have  left 
you  no  home,  shall  find  one,  if  you  will,  with  me.  Come, 
then,  and  labor  with  me  in  my  great  undertaking !  You 
will  withdraw  your  mind  from  the  contemplation  of  your 
woes,  and  merit  by  your  devotion  the  favor  of  the  Most 
High." 

"  No,  Xumerian,  I  will  still  be  independent,  even  of  my 
friends!      Nor  Roine,  nor  Italy,  are  abiding-places  for  me. 


72  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

I  go  to  another  land  to  abide  among  another  people,  until 
the  arms  of  a  conqueror  shall  have  restored  freedom  to  the 
brave  and  protection  to  the  honest  throughout  the  countries 
of  the  empire." 

"  Probus,  I  implore  you  to  stay  !" 

"  Never !  My  determination  is  taken ;  Numerian,  fare- 
well !" 

And  the  land-holder  hurried  rapidly  away,  as  if  fearful  to 
trust  his  resolution  any  longer  against  the  persuasions  of  his 
friend. 

For  a  few  minutes  Numerian  stood  motionless,  gazing 
wistfully  in  the  direction  taken  by  his  companion  on  his  de- 
parture. At  Hrst,  an  expression  of  grief  and  pity  softened 
the  austerity  which  seemed  the  habitual  characteristic  of  his 
countenance  when  in  repose,  but  soon  these  milder  and  ten- 
derer feelings  appeared  to  vanish  from  his  heart  as  suddenly 
as  they  had  arisen  ;  his  features  re-assumed  their  customary 
sternness,  and  he  muttered  to  himself  as  he  mixed  with  the 
crowd  struggling  onward  in  the  direction  of  the  Basilica, 
"Let  him  depart  unregretted;  he  has  denied  himself  to  the 
service  of  his  Maker.     He  should  no  longer  be  my  friend." 

In  this  sentence  lay  the  index  to  the  character  of  the  man. 
His  existence  was  one  vast  sacrifice,  one  scene  of  intrepid 
self-immolation.  Although,  in  the  brief  hints  at  the  events 
of  his  life  which  he  had  communicated  to  his  friend,  he  had 
exaggerated  the  extent  of  his  errors,  he  had  by  no  means 
done  justice  to  the  fervor  of  his  penitence,  a  penitence  which 
outstripped  the  usual  boundaries  of  repentance,  and  only  be- 
gan in  despair  to  terminate  in  fanaticism.  His  desertion  of 
his  father's  house  (into  the  motives  of  which  it  is  not  our 
present  intention  to  enter),  and  his  long  subsequent  existence 
of  violence  and  excess,  indisposed  his  naturally  strong  pas- 
sions to  submit  to  the  slightest  restraint.  In  obedience  to 
their  first  impulses,  he  contracted,  at  a  mature  age,  a  mar- 
riage with  a  woman  thoroughly  unworthy  of  the  ardent  ad- 
miration that  she  had  inspired.  When  he  found  himself  de- 
ceived and  dishonored  by  her,  the  shock  of  such  an  affliction 
thrilled  through  his  whole  being — crushed  all  his  energies — 
struck  him  prostrate,  heart  and  mind,  at  one  blow.  •  The  er- 
rors of  his  youth,  committed  in  his  prosperity  with  moral 
impunity,  reacted  upon  him  in  his  adversity  w  ith  an  iuflu- 


ANTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  73 

ence  fatal  to  liis  future  peace.  His  repentance  was  darkened 
by  despondency  ;  his  resolutions  were  unbrightened  by  hope. 
He  flew  to  religion  as  the  suicide  flies  to  the  knife — in  de- 
spair. 

Leaving  all  remaining  peculiarities  in  Numerian's  charac- 
ter to  be  discussed  at  a  future  opportunity,  we  will  now  fol- 
low him  ill  his  passage  tlirough  the  crowd,  to  the  entrance 
of  the  Basilica — continuing  to  designate  him,  here  and  else- 
where, by  the  name  which  he  had  assumed  on  his  conversion, 
and  by  which  he  had  insisted  on  being  addressed  during  his 
interview  with  the  fugitive  land-holder. 

Although  at  the  commencement  of  his  progress  toward 
the  church  our  enthusiast  found  himself  placed  among  the 
hindermost  of  the  members  of  the  advancing  throng,  he  soon 
contrived  so  thoroughly  to  outstrip  his  dilatory  and  discur- 
sive neighbors  as  to  gain,  with  little  delay,  the  steps  of  the 
sacred  building.  Here,  in  common  with  many  others,  he 
was  compelled  to  stop,  while  those  nearest  the  Basilica 
squeezed  their  way  through  its  stately  doors.  In  such  a  sit- 
uation his  remarkable  figure  could  not  fail  to  be  noticed, 
and  he  was  silently  recognized  by  many  of  the  by-standers — 
some  of  whom  looked  on  him  with  wonder,  and  some  with 
aversion.  Nobody,  however,  approached  or  spoke  to  him. 
Every  one  felt  the  necessity  of  shniining  a  man  whose  bold 
and  daily  exposures  of  the  abuses  of  the  Church  placed  in 
incessant  peril  his  liberty,  and  even  his  life. 

Among  the  by-standers  who  surrounded  Numerian,  there 
were  nevertheless  two  who  did  not  remain  content  with 
carelessly  avoiding  any  communication  WMth  the  intrepid 
and  suspected  Reformer.  These  two  men  belonged  to  the 
lowest  order  of  the  clergy,  and  appeared  to  be  occupied  in 
cautiously  watching  the  actions  and  listening  to  the  conver- 
sation of  the  individuals  immediately  around  them.  The  in- 
stant they  beheld  Numerian,  they  moved  so  as  to  elude  his 
observation,  taking  care,  at  the  same  time,  to  occupy  such  a 
position  as  enabled  them  to  keep  in  view  the  object  of  their 
evident  distrust. 

"Look,  Osius,"  said  one,  "  that  man  is  here  again  !" 

"And  doubtless  with  the  same  motives  which  brought 
him  here  yesterday,"  replied  the  other.  "You  will  see  that 
he  will  again  enter  the  church,  listen  to  the  service,  retire  to 

4 


74  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

his  little  chapel  near  the  Pineian  Mount,  and  there,  before 
his  ragged  mob  of  adherents,  attack  the  doctrines  wliicli  our 
brethren  have  preached,  as  we  know  he  did  last  night,  and 
as  we  suspect  he  will  continue  to  do,  until  the  authorities 
think  proper  to  give  the  signal  for  his  imprisonment." 

"I  marvel  that  he  should  have  been  permitted  to  per- 
sist so  long  a  time  as  he  has  in  his  course  of  contumacy  to- 
ward the  Church.  Have  we  not  evidence  enough  in  his 
writings  alone  to  convict  him  of  heresy  ?  The  carelessness 
of  the  bishop  upon  such  a  matter  as  this  is  quite  inexplica- 
ble !" 

"You  should  consider,  Numerian  not  being  a  priest,  that 
the  carelessness  about  our  interests  lies  more  with  the  Sen- 
ate than  the  bishop.  What  time  our  nobles  can  spare  from 
their  debaucheries  has  been  lately  given  to  discussions  on 
the  conduct  of  the  emperor  in  retiring  to  Ravenna,  and  will 
now  be  dedicated  to  penetrating  the  basis  of  this  rumor 
about  the  Goths.  Besides,  even  were  they  at  liberty,  what 
care  the  Senate  about  theological  disputes?  Tliey  only 
know  this  Numerian  as  a  citizen  of  Rome,  a  man  of  some  in- 
fluence and  possessions,  and,  consequently,  a  person  of  polit- 
ical importance  as  a  member  of  the  population.  In  addition 
to  which,  it  would  be  no  easy  task  for  us,  at  the  present  mo- 
ment, to  impugn  the  doctrines  broached  by  our  assailant; 
for  the  fellow  has  a  troublesome  facility  of  supporting  what 
he  says  by  the  Bible.  Believe  me,  in  this  matter,  our  only 
way  of  righting  ourselves  will  be  to  convict  him  of  scandal 
against  the  highest  dignitaries  of  the  Church." 

"  The  order  that  we  have  lately  received  to  track  his  move- 
ments and  listen  to  his  discourses,  leads  me  to  believe  that 
our  superiors  are  of  your  opinion," 

"Whether  my  convictions  are  correct  or  not,  of  this  I  feel 
assured,  that  his  days  of  liberty  are  numbered.  It  was  but 
a  few  hours  ago  that  I  saw  the  bishop's  chamberlain's  head- 
assistant,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  heard,  through  the 
crevice  of  a  door — " 

"Hush!  he  moves;  he  is  pressing  forward  to  enter  the 
church.  You  can  tell  me  what  you  were  about  to  say  as  we 
follow  him.     Quick!  let  us  mix  with  the  crowd," 

Ever  enthusiastic  in  the  performance  of  their  loathsome 
duties,  these  two  discreet  pastors  of  a  Christian  flock  follow- 


ANTONINA;  or,  the  fall  of  ROME.  75 

ed  Numerian  with  the  most  elaborate  caution  into  the  inte- 
rior of  the  sacred  building. 

Although  the  sun  still  left  a  faint  streak  of  red  in  the 
western  sky,  and  the  moon  had  as  yet  scarcely  risen,  the 
great  chandelier  of  two  thousand  four  hundred  lamps,  men- 
tioned by  the  bishop  in  his  address  to  the  people,  was  al- 
ready alight.  In  the  days  of  its  severe  and  sacred  beauty, 
the  appearance  of  the  church  would  have  sufiered  fatally  by 
this  blaze  of  artificial  brilliancy  ;  but  now  that  the  ancient 
character  of  the  Basilica  was  completely  changed,  now  that 
from  a  solemn  temple  it  had  been  altered  to  the  semblance 
of  a  luxurious  paljxce,  it  gained  immensely  by  its  gaudy  illu- 
mination. Not  an  ornament  along  the  vast  extent  of  its 
glorious  nave  but  glittered  in  vivid  distinctness  in  the  daz- 
zling light  that  poured  downward  from  the  roof  The  gild- 
ed rafters,  the  smooth  inlaid  marble  pillars,  the  rich  hang- 
ings of  the  windows,  the  jeweled  candlesticks  on  the  altars, 
the  pictures,  the  statues,  the  bronzes,  the  mosaics,  each  and 
all  glowed  with  a  steady  and  luxurious  transparency,  abso- 
lutely intoxicating  to  the  eye.  Not  a  trace  of  wear,  not 
a  vestige  of  tarnish  now  appeared  on  any  object.  Each 
portion  of  the  nave  to  which  the  attention  was  directed 
appeared  too  finely,  spotlessly  radiant  ever  to  have  been 
touched  by  mortal  hands.  Entranced  and  bewildered,  the 
observation  roamed  over  the  surface  of  the  brilliant  scene, 
until,  wearied  by  the  unbroken  embellishment  of  the  pros- 
pect, it  wandered  for  repose  upon  the  dimly-lighted  aisles, 
and  dwelt  with  delight  upon  the  soft  shadows  that  hov- 
ered about  their  distant  pillars,  and  the  gliding  forms  that 
peopled  their  dusky  recesses  or  loitered  past  their  lofty 
walls. 

At  the  moment  when  Nuraerian  entered  the  Basilica,  a 
part  of  the  service  had  just  concluded.  The  last  faint  echo 
from  the  voices  of  the  choir  still  hung  upon  the  incense-la- 
den air,  and  the  vast  masses  of  the  spectators  were  still  group- 
ed in  their  listening  and  various  attitudes,  as  the  devoted 
reformer  looked  forth  upon  the  church.  Even  he,  stern  as 
he  was,  seemed  for  a  moment  subdued  by  the  ineffable  en- 
chantment of  the  scene ;  but  ere  long,  as  if  displeased  with 
his  own  involuntary  emotions  of  admiration,  his  brow  con- 
tracted, and  he  sighed  heavily,  as  (still  followed  by  the  at- 


76  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

tentive  spies)  he  sought  the  comparative  seclusion  of  the 
aisles. 

During  the  interval  between  the  divisions  of  the  service, 
the  congregation  occupied  themselves  in  staring  at  the  rel- 
ics, which  were  inclosed  in  a  silver  cabinet  with  cr3'stal 
doors,  and  placed  on  the  top  of  the  high  altar.  Although  it 
was  impossible  to  obtain  a  satisfactory  view  of  these  eccle- 
siastical treasures,  they  nevertheless  employed  the  attention 
of  every  one,  until  the  appearance  of  a  priest  in  the  pulpit 
gave  signal  of  the  commencement  of  J,he  sermon,  and  ad- 
monished all  those  who  had  seats  to  secure  them  without 
delay. 

Passing  through  the  ranks  of  the  auditors  of  the  sermon — 
some  of  whom  were  engaged  in  counting  the  lights  in  the 
chandelier,  to  be  certain  that  the  bishop  had  not  defrauded 
them  of  one  out  of  the  two  thousand  four  hundred  lamps; 
others  in  holding  whispered  conversations,  and  opening  small 
boxes  of  sweetmeats — we  again  conduct  the  reader  to  the 
outside  of  the  church. 

The  assemblage  hero  had  by  this  lime  much  diminished; 
the  shadows  flung  over  the  ground  by  the  lofty  colonnades 
had  deepened  and  increased ;  and  in  tnany  of  the  more  re- 
mote recesses  of  the  Place  hardly  a  human  being  was  to  be 
observed.  At  one  of  these  extremities,  where  the  pillars 
terminated  in  the  street  and  the  obscurity  was  most  intense, 
stood  a  solitary  old  man  keeping  himself  cautiously  conceal- 
ed in  the  darkness,  and  looking  out  anxiousl}'  upon  the  pub- 
lic way  immediately  before  him. 

He  had  waited  but  a  short  time  when  a  handsome  chariot, 
preceded  by  a  body-guard  of  gayly-attired  slaves,  stopped 
within  a  few  paces  of  his  lurking-place,  and  the  voice  of 
the  person  it  contained  pronounced  audibly  the  following 
words : 

"No,  no!  Drive  on  —  we  are  later  than  I  thought.  If  I 
stay  to  see  this  illumination  of  the  Basilica,  I  shall  not  be  in 
time  to  receive  my  guests  for  to-night's  banquet.  Besides, 
this  inestimable  kitten  of  the  breed  most  worshiped  by  the 
ancient  Egyptians  has  already  taken  cold,  and  I  would  not 
for  the  world  expose  the  susceptible  animal  any  longer  than 
is  necessary  to  the  dampness  of  the  night  air.  Drive  on, 
good  Carrio,  drive  on  !" 


ANTOXINA  ;  OR,  TUE  FALL  OF  ROME.  77 

The  old  man  scarcely  waited  for  the  conclusion  of  this 
speech  before  he  ran  up  to  the  chariot,  where  he  was  im- 
mediately confronted  by  two  heads,  one  that  of  Vetrauio, 
the  senator,  the  other  that  of  a  glossy  black  kitten  adorned 
with  a  collar  of  rubies,  and  half  enveloped  in  its  master's 
ample  robes.  Before  the  astonished  noble  could  articulate 
a  word,  the  man  whispered,  in  hoarse,  hurried  accents,  "  I 
am  Ulpius — dismiss  your  servants  —  I  have  something  im- 
portant to  say !" 

"  Ha !  my  worthy  Ulpius !  You  have  a  most  unhappy 
faculty  of  delivering  a  message  with  the  manner  of  an  assas- 
sin. But  I  must  pardon  your  unpleasant  abruptness  in  con- 
sideration of  your  diligence.  My  excellent  Carrio,  if  you 
value  my  approljation,  remove  your  companions  and  your- 
self out  of  hearing  !" 

The  freedmen  yielded  instant  obedience  to  his  master's 
mandate.  The  following  conversation  then  took  place,  the 
strange  man  opening  it  thus: 

"  You  remember  your  promise  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Upon  your  honor,  as  a  nobleman  and  a  senator,  you  are 
prepared  to  abide  by  it  whenever  it  is  necessary  ?" 

"  I  am." 

"  Then  at  the  dawn  of  morning  meet  me  at  the  private 
gate  of  your  palace  garden,  and  I  will  conduct  you  to  Anto- 
nina's  bed-chamber." 

"  The  time  will  suit  me.    But  why  at  the  dawn  of  morning  ?" 

"Because  the  Christian  dotard  will  keep  a  vigil  until  mid- 
night, which  the  girl  will  most  probably  attend.  I  wished 
to  tell  you  this  at  your  palace,  but  I  heard  there  that  you 
had  gone  to  Aricia,  and  would  return  by  way  of  the  Basili- 
ca.    So  I  posted  myself  to  intercept  you  thus." 

"  Industrious  Ulpius  !" 

"  Remember  your  promise." 

Vetranio  leaned  forward  to  reply,  but  Ulpius  was  gone. 

As  the  senator  again  commanded  his  equipage  to  move 
on,  he  looked  anxiously  around  him,  as  if  once  more  expect- 
ing to  see  his  strange  adherent  still  lurking  near  the  chariot. 
He  only  perceived,  however,  a  man  whom  he  did  not  know, 
followed  by  two  others,  walking  rapidly  past  him.  They 
were  Numerian  and  the  spies. 


78  ANTONINA ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  KOME. 

"At  last  my  projects  are  approaching  consummation," 
exclaimed  Vetrauio  to  himself,  as  he  and  his  kitten  rolled 
off  in  the  chariot.  "  It  is  well  that  I  thought  of  securing 
possession  of  Julia's  villa  to-day,  for  I  shall  now,  assuredly, 
want  to  use  it  to-morrow.  Jupiter!  what  a  mass  of  dan- 
gers, contradictions,  and  mysteries  encompass  this  affair ! 
When  I  think  that  I,  who  prided  myself  on  ray  philosophy, 
have  quitted  Ravenna;  borrowed  a  private  villa;  leagued 
myself  with  an  uncultivated  plebeian ;  and  all  for  the  sake 
of  a  girl,  who  has  already  deceived  my  expectations  by  gain- 
ing me  as  a  music-master  without  admitting  me  as  a  lover, 
I  am  positively  astonished  at  my  own  weakness !  Still  it 
must  be  owned  that  the  complexion  my  adventure  has  late- 
ly assumed  renders  it  of  some  interest  in  itself  The  mere 
pleasure  of  penetrating  the  secrets  of  this  Numerian's  house- 
hold is  by  no  means  the  least  among  the  numerous  attrac- 
tions of  my  design.  How  has  he  gained  his  influence  over 
the  girl  ?  Why  does  he  keep  her  in  such  strict  seclusion  ? 
Who  is  this  old,  half-frantic,  unceremonious  man -monster, 
calling  himself  Ulpius;  refusing  all  reward  for  his  villainy; 
raving  about  a  return  to  the  old  religion  of  the  gods ;  and 
exulting  in  the  promise  he  has  extorted  from  me,  as  a  good 
pagan,  to  support  the  first  restoration  of  the  ancient  worship 
that  may  be  attempted  in  Rome?  Where  does  he  come 
from  ?  Why  does  he  outwardly  profess  himself  a  Christian  ? 
What  sent  him  into  Numerian's  service?  By  the  girdle  of 
Venus!  every  thing  connected  with  the  girl  is  as  incom- 
prehensible as  herself!  But  patience  —  patience!  A  few 
hours  more,  and  these  mysteries  will  be  revealed.  In  the 
mean  time,  let  me  think  of  my  banquet,  and  of  its  presiding 
deity,  the  Nightingale  Sauce !" 


CHAPTER  V. 

ANTONINA. 

Who  that  has  been  at  Rome  does  not  remember  with  de- 
light the  attractions  of  the  Pincian  Hill  ?  Who,  after  toil- 
ing through  the  wonders  of  the  dark,  melancholy  city,  has 
not  been  revived  by  a  visit  to  its  shady  walks,  and  by 
breathing  its  fragrant  breezes?    Amidst  the  solemn  mourn- 


AJfTONINA;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  79 

fulness  that  reigns  over  declining  Rome,  this  delightful  ele- 
vation rises  light,  airy,  and  inviting,  at  once  a  refreshment 
to  the  body  and  a  solace  to  the  spirit.  From  its  smooth 
summit  the  city  is  seen  in  its  utmost  majesty,  and  the  sur- 
rounding country  in  its  brightest  aspect.  The  crimes  and 
miseries  of  Rome  seem  deterred  from  approaching  its  favor- 
ed soil ;  it  impresses  the  mind  as  a  place  set  apart  by  com- 
mon consent  for  the  presence  of  the  innocent  and  the  joyful 
— as  a  scene  that  rest  and  recreation  keep  sacred  from  the 
intrusion  of  tumult  and  toil. 

Its  aj^pearance  in  modern  days  is  the  picture  of  its  char- 
acter for  ages  past.  Successive  wars  might  dull  its  beauties 
for  a  time,  but  peace  invariably  restored  them  in  all  their 
pristine  loveliness.  The  old  Romans  called  it  "The  Mount 
of  Gardens."  Throughout  the  disasters  of  the  Empire  and 
the  convulsions  of  the  Middle  Ages,  it  continued  to  merit 
its  ancient  appellation,  and  a  "  Mount  of  Gardens  "  it  still 
triumphantly  remains  to  the  present  day. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  fifth  century,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  Pincian  Hill  was  at  its  zenith.  Were  it  con- 
sistent with  the  conduct  of  our  story  to  dwell  upon  the 
glories  of  its  palaces  and  its  gi'oves,  its  temples  and  its  the- 
atres, such  a  glowing  prospect  of  artificial  splendor,  aided 
by  natural  beauty,  might  be  spread  before  the  reader  as 
would  tax  his  credulity,  while  it  excited  his  astonishment. 
This  task,  however,  it  is  here  unnecessary  to  attempt.  It  is 
not  for  the  wonders  of  ancient  luxury  and  taste,  but  for  the 
abode  of  the  zealous  and  religious  Numerian,  that  we  find 
it  now  requisite  to  arouse  interest  and  engage  attention. 

At  the  back  of  the  Flaminian  extremity  of  the  Pincian 
Hill,  and  immediately  overlooking  the  city  wall,  stood,  at 
the  period  of  which  we  write,  a  small  but  elegantly  built 
house,  surrounded  by  a  little  garden  of  its  own,  and  pro- 
tected at  the  back  by  the  lofty  groves  and  outbuildings  of 
the  palace  of  Vetranio,  the  senator.  This  abode  had  been 
at  one  time  a  sort  of  summer-house  belonging  to  the  former 
proprietor  of  a  neighboring  mansion. 

Profligate  necessities  had  obliged  the  owner  to  part  with 
this  portion  of  his  possessions,  which  was  purchased  by  a 
merchant  well  known  to  Numerian,  who  received  it  as  a 
legacy  at  his  friend's  death.     Disgusted,  as  soon  as  his  re- 


80  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  ROME. 

forming  projects  took  possession  of  his  mind,  at  the  bare 
idea  of  propinquity  to  the  ennobled  libertines  of  Rome,  the 
austere  Christian  determined  to  abandon  his  inheritance  and 
to  sell  it  to  another;  but  at  the  repeated  entreaties  of  his 
daughter,  he  at  length  consented  to  change  his  purpose,  and 
sacrifice  his  antipathy  to  his  luxurious  neighbors  to  his  child's 
youthful  attachment  to  the  beauties  of  nature,  as  displayed 
in  his  legacy  on  the  Pincian  Mount.  In  this  instance  only 
did  the  natural  afteclion  of  the  father  prevail  over  the  ac- 
quired severity  of  the  reformer.  Here  he  condescended,  for 
the  first  and  the  last  time,  to  the  sweet  trivialities  of  youth. 
Here,  indulgent  in  spite  of  himself,  he  fixed  his  little  house- 
hold, and  permitted  to  his  daughter  her  sole  recreations  of 
tending  the  flowers  in  the  garden,  and  luxuriating  in  the 
loveliness  of  the  distant  view. 

The  night  has  advanced  an  hour  since  the  occurrences 
mentioned  in  the  preceding  chapter.  The  clear  and  brill- 
iant moonlight  of  Italy  now  pervades  every  district  of  the 
glorious  city,  and  bathes  in  its  pure  eflfulgence  the  groves 
and  palaces  on  the  Pincian  Mount.  From  the  garden  of 
Numerian  the  irregular  buildings  of  the  great  suburbs  of 
Rome,  the  rich,  undulating  country  beyond,  and  the  long 
ranges  of  mountains  in  the  distance,  are  now  all  visible  in 
the  soft  and  luxurious  light.  Near  the  spot  which  com- 
mands this  view,  not  a  living  creature  is  to  be  seen  on  a 
first  examination ;  but  on  a  more  industrious  and  patient 
observation,  you  are  subsequently  able  to  detect  at  one  of 
the  windows  of  Numerian's  house,  half  hidden  by  a  curtain, 
the  figure  of  a  young  girl. 

Soon  this  solitary  form  approaches  nearer  to  the  eye :  the 
moonbeams  that  have  hitherto  shone  only  upon  the  window 
now  illuminate  other  objects.  First,  they  display  a  small, 
white  arm;  then  a  light,  simple  robe;  then  a  fair,  graceful 
neck;  and  finally  a  bright,  youthful,  innocent  face,  directed 
steadfastly  toward  the  wide  moon-brightened  prospect  of 
the  distant  mountains. 

For  some  time  the  girl  remains  in  contemplation  at  her 
window.  Then  she  leaves  her  post,  and  almost  immediately 
re-appears  at  a  door  leading  into  the  garden.  Her  figure,  as 
she  advances  toward  the  lawn  before  her,  is  light  and  small ; 


ANTOXIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  ROMK.  81 

a  natural  grace  and  propriety  appear  in  her  movements ; 
she  holds  pressed  to  her  bosom,  and  half  concealed  by  her 
robe,  a  gilt  lute.  When  she  reaches  a  turf  bank  command- 
ing the  same  view  as  the  window,  she  arranges  her  instru- 
ment upon  her  knee,  and  with  something  of  restraint  in  her 
manner  gently  touches  the  chords.  Then,  as  if  alarmed  at 
the  sound  she  has  produced,  slie  glances  anxiously  around 
her,  apparently  fearful  of  being  overheard.  Her  large,  dark, 
lustrous  eyes  have  in  them  an  expression  of  apprehension  ; 
lier  delicate  lips  are  half  parted ;  a  sudden  flush  rises  in  her 
soft,  olive  complexion,  as  she  examines  every  corner  of  the 
garden.  Having  completed  her  survey  without  discovering 
any  cause  for  the  suspicions  she  seems  to  entertain,  she  again 
employs  herself  over  her  instrument.  Once  more  she  strikes 
the  chords,  and  now  with  a  bolder  hand.  The  notes  she 
produces  resolve  themselves  into  a  wild,  plaintive,  irregular 
melody,  alternately  rising  and  sinking,  as  if  swayed  by  the 
tickle  influence  of  a  summer  wind.  These  sounds  are  soon 
harmoniously  augmented  by  the  young  minstrel's  voice, 
which  is  calm,  still,  and  mellow,  and  adapts  itself  with  ex- 
quisite ingenuity  to  every  arbitrary  variation  ir>  the  tone  of 
the  accompaniment.  The  song  that  she  has  chosen  is  one 
of  the  fanciftil  odes  of  the  day.  Its  chief  merit  to  her  lies  in 
its  alliance  to  the  strange  Eastern  air,  which  she  heard  at 
her  first  interview  with  the  senator  who  presented  her  with 
the  lute.  Paraphrased  in  English,  the  words  of  the  compo- 
sition would  run  thus: 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  MUSIC. 
L 

Spirit,  whose  dominion  reigns 
Over  Music's  thrilling  strains, 
Whence  may  be  thj*  distant  birth  ? 
Say,  what  tempted  thee  to  earth  ? 


Mortal,  listen  ;  I  was  bom 
In  Creation's  early  years, 

Singing,  'mid  the  stars  of  mom, 
To  the  music  of  the  spheres. 

Once,  as  within  the  realms  of  space, 
I  view'd  this  mortal  planet  roll, 

A  yearning  towar<l  thy  hapless  race, 
Unbidden,  filled  my  seraph  soul ! 
4* 


82  ANTONINA  ;    OK,  TIIK    FALL    OF    ROME. 

Angels,  who  had  watch'd  my  birth, 
Heard  me  sigh  to  sing  to  earth  ; 
'Twas  transgression  ne'er  forgiv'n 
To  forget  my  native  Heav'n ; 
So  they  sternly  bade  me  go — 
Banish'd  to  the  world  below ! 

IL 
Exil'd  here,  I  knew  no  fears ; 

-For,  though  darkness  round  me  clung, 
Though  none  heard  me  in  the  spheres, 

Earth  had  listeners  while  I  sung. 

Young  spirits  of  the  Spring-sweet  breeze, 
Came  thronging  round  me,  soft  and  coy; 

Light  Wood-nymphs  sported  in  the  trees, 
And  laughing  Echo  leaped  for  joy ! 

Brooding  Woe  and  writhing  Pain 
Soften'd  at  my  gentle  strain  ; 
Bounding  Joy,  with  footstep  fleet, 
R^m  to  nestle  at  my  feet ; 
While  aroused,  delighted  Love 
Softly  kissed  me  from  above ! 

IIL 
Since  those  years  of  early  time, 

Faithful  still  to  earth  I've  sung;  ' 

Flying  through  each  distant  clime, 

Ever  welcome,  ever  young ! 

Still  pleas'd,  my  solace  I  impart. 

Where  brightest  hopes  are  scattered  dead ; 

'Tis  mine — sweet  gift ! — to  charm  the  heart, 
Though  all  its  other  joys  have  fled ! 

Time  that  withers  all  beside, 
Harmless  past  me  loves  to  glide ; 
Change,  that  mortals  must  obey, 
Ne'er  shall  shake  my  gentle  sway ; 
Still  'tis  mine  all  hearts  to  move 
In  eternity  of  love ! 

As  the  last  sounds  of  her  voice  and  her  lute  died  softly 
away  upon  the  still  night  air,  an  indescribable  elevation  ap- 
peared in  the  girl's  countenance.  She  looked  up  rapturous- 
ly into  the  far,  star-bright  sky,  her  lip  quivered,  her  dark 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  her  bosom  heaved  with  the  ex- 
cess of  the  emotions  that  the  music  and  the  scene  inspired. 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  83 

Then  she  gazed  slowly  around  her,  dwelling  tenderly  upon 
the  fragrant  flower-beds  that  were  the  work  of  her  own 
hands,  and  looking  forth  with  an  expression  half  reverential, 
half  ecstatic,  over  the  long,  smooth,  shining  plains,  and  the 
still,  glorious  mountains,  that  had  so  long  been  the  inspira- 
tion of  her  most  cherished  thoughts,  and  that  now  glowed 
before  her  eyes,  soft  and  beautiful  as  her  dreams  on  her  vir- 
gin couch.  Then,  overpowered  by  the  artless  .thoughts  and 
innocent  recollections  which  on  the  magic  wings  of  Nature 
and  Night  came  wafted  over  her  mind,  she  bent  down  her 
head  upon  her  lute;  pressed  her  round,  dimpled  cheek 
against  its  smooth  frame,  and,  drawing  her  fingers  mechanic- 
ally over  its  strings,  abandoned  herself  unreservedly  to  the 
reveries  of  maidenhood  and  youth. 

Such  was  the  being  devoted  by  her  father's  fatal  ambition 
to  a  life-long  banishment  from  all  that  is  attractive  in  hu- 
man art  and  beautiful  in  human  intellect!  Such  was  the 
daughter  whose  existence  was  to  be  one  long  acquaintance 
with  mortal  woe,  one  unvaried  refusal  of  mortal  pleasure, 
whose  thoughts  were  to  be  only  of  sermons  and  fasts,  whose 
actions  were  to  be  confined  to  the  binding  of  strangers' 
wounds  and  the  drying  of  strangers'  tears,  whose  life,  in 
brief,  was  doomed  to  be  the  embodiment  of  her  father's  aus- 
tere ideal  of  the  austere  virgins  of  the  ancient  Church  ! 

Deprived  of  her  mother,  exiled  from  the  companionship 
of  others  of  her  age,  permitted  no  familiarity  with  any  liv- 
ing being — no  sympathies,  with  any  other  heart,  command- 
ed but  never  indulged,  rebuked  but  never  applauded  —  she 
must  have  sunk  beneath  the  severities  imposed  on  her  by 
her  father,  but  for  the  venial  disobedience  committed  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  solitary  pleasure  procured  for  her  by  her  lute. 
Vainly,  in  her  hours  of  study,  did  she  read  the  fierce  anathe- 
mas against  love,  liberty,  and  pleasure,  poetry,  painting,  and 
music,  gold,  silver,  and  precious  stones,  which  the  ancient 
Fathers  had  composed  for  the  benefit  of  the  submissive  con- 
gregations of  former  days;  vainly  did  she  imagine,  during 
those  long  hours  of  theological  instruction,  that  her  heart's 
forbidden  longings  were  banished  and  destroyed — that  her 
patient  and  child -like  disposition  was  bowed  in  complete 
subserviency  to  the  most  rigorous  of  her  father's  commands. 
No  sooner  were  her  interviews  with  Numerian  concluded, 


84  ANTONINA  ;  OK,  THE  FALL  OF  KOME. 

than  the  promptings  of  that  nature  within  us,  which  arti- 
fice may  warp  but  can  never  destroy,  hired  her  into  a  for- 
gett'uhiess  of  all  that  she  had  heard,  and  a  longing  fur  much 
that  was  forbidden.  We  live,  in  this  existence,  but  by  the 
companionship  of  some  sympathy,  aspiration,  or  pursuit, 
which  serves  us  as  our  habitual  refuge  from  the  tribulations 
we  inherit  from  the  outer  world.  The  same  feeling  which 
led  Antonina,  in  her  childhood,  to  beg  for  a  flower-garden, 
in  her  girlhood  induced  her  to  gain  possession  of  a  lute. 

The  passion  for  music  which  prompted  her  visit  to  Ve- 
tranio,  which  alone  saved  her  affections  from  pining  in  the 
solitude  imposed  on  them,  and  which  occupied  her  leisure 
hours  in  the  manner  we  have  already  described,  was  an  in- 
heritance of  her  birth. 

Her  Spanish  mother  had  sung  to  her,  hour  after  hour,  in 
her  cradle,  for  the  short  time  during  which  she  was  permit- 
ted to  watch  over  her  child.  The  impression  thus  made  on 
the  dawning  faculties  of  the  infant  nothing  ever  effaced. 
Though  her  earliest  perceptions  were  greeted  only  by  the 
sight  of  her  father's  misery ;  though  the  form  which  his  de- 
spairing penitence  soon  assumed  doomed  her  to  a  life  of  se- 
clusion and  an  education  of  admonition,  the  passionate  at- 
tachment to  the  melody  of  sound  inspired  by  her  mother's 
voice,  almost  imbibed  at  her  mother's  breast,  lived  through 
all  neglect,  and  survived  all  opposition.  It  found  its  nour- 
ishment in  childish  recollections,  in  snatches  of  street  min- 
strelsy heard  through  her  windi)w,  in  the  passage  of  the 
night  winds  of  winter  through  the  groves  on  the  Pincian 
]Mount,  and  received  its  rapturous  gratification  in  the  first 
audible  sounds  from  the  Roman  senator's  lute.  How  her 
possession  of  an  instrument,  and  her  skill  in  playing,  were 
subsequently  gained,  the  reader  already  knows  from  Vetra- 
nio's  narrative  at  Ravenna.  Could  the  frivolous  senator 
have  discovered  the  real  intensity  of  the  emotions  his  art 
was  raising  in  his  pupil's  bosom  while  he  taught  her;  could 
he  have  imagined  how  incessantly,  during  their  lessons,  her 
sense  of  duty  struggled  with  her  love  for  music — how  com- 
pletely she  was  absorbed,  one  moment  by  an  agony  of  doubt 
and  fear,  another  by  an  ecstasy  of  enjoyment  and  hope,  he 
would  have  felt  little  of  that  astonishment  at  her  coldness 
toward  himself  which  he  so  warmly  expressed  at  his  inter- 


axtonixa;   or,  the  fall  of  kome.  85 

view  with  Julia  in  the  gardens  of  the  court.  In  truth,  noth- 
ing could  be  inore  complete  than  Antonina's  childish  uncon- 
sciousness of  the  feelings  with  which  Vetranio  regarded  her. 
In  entering  his  presence,  whatever  remnant  of  her  affections 
remained  un withered  by  her  fears  was  solely  attracted  and 
engrossed  by  the  beloved  and  beautiful  lute.  In  receiving 
the  instrument,  she  almost  forgot  the  giver  in  the  triumph 
of  possession ;  or,  if  she  thought  of  him  at  all,  it  .was  to  be 
grateful  for  having  escaped  uninjured  from  a  member  of 
that  class  for  whom  her  father's  reiterated  admonitions  had 
inspired  her  with  a  vague  feeling  of  dread  and  distrust,  and 
to  determine  that,  now  she  had  acknowledged  his  kindness 
and  departed  from  his  domains,  nothing  should  ever  induce 
her  to  risk  discovery  by  her  father  and  peril  to  herself,  by 
ever  entering  them  again. 

Innocent  in  her  isolation,  almost  infantine  in  her  natural 
simplicity,  a  single  enjoyment  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  all  the 
passions  of  her  age.  Father,  mother,  lover,  and  companions ; 
liberties,  amusements,  and  adornments — they  were  all  sum- 
med up  for  her  ii]  that  simple  lute.  The  archness,  the  live- 
liness, and  the  gentleness  of  her  disposition  ;  the  poetry  of 
her  nature,  and  the  affection  of  her  heart;  the  happy  bloom 
of  youth,  which  seclusion  could  not  all  wither  nor  distorted 
precept  taint,  were  now  entirely  nourished,  expanded,  and 
freshened — such  is  the  creative  power  of  human  emotion — 
by  that  inestimable  possession.  She  could  speak  to  it,  smile 
on  it,  caress  it;  and  believe,  in  the  ecstasy  of  her  delight,  in 
the  carelessness  of  her  self-delusion,  that  it  sympathized  with 
her  joy.  During  her  long  solitudes,  when  she  was  silently 
watched  in  her  father's  absence  by  the  brooding,  melancholy 
stranger  whom  he  had  set  over  her,  it  became  a  companion 
dearer  than  the  flower-garden,  dearer  even  than  the  plains 
and  mountains  which  formed  her  favorite  view.  When  her 
father  returned,  and  she  was  led  forth  to  sit  in  a  dark  place 
among  strange,  silent  people,  and  to  listen  to  interminable 
declamations,  it  was  a  solace  to  think  of  the  instrument,  as 
it  lay  hidden  securely  in  her  chamber;  and  to  ponder  de- 
lightedly o:i  what  new  music  of  her  own  she  could  play  upon 
it  next.  Ar.d  then,  when  evening  arrived,  and  she  was  left 
alone  in  licr  garden — then  came  the  hour  of  moonlight  and 
song,  the  nioir.i'nt  of  rapj,ure  and  melody  that  drew  her  out 


86  ANTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME, 

of  herself,  elevated  her  she  felt  not  how,  and  transported  her 
she  knew  not  whither. 

But,  while  we  thus  linger  over  reflections  on  motives  and 
examinations  into  character,  we  are  called  back  to  the  outer 
world  of  passing  interests  and  events  by  the  appearance  of 
another  figure  on  the  scene.  We  left  Antonina  in  the  gar- 
den thinking  over  her  lute.  She  still  remains  in  her  medi- 
tative position,  but  she  is  now  no  longer  alone. 

From  the  same  steps  by  which  she  had  descended,  a  man 
now  advances  into  the  garden,  and  walks  toward  the  place 
she  occupies.  His  gait  is  limping ;  his  stature  crooked  ;  his 
proportions  distorted.  His  large,  angular  features  stand  out 
in  gaunt  contrast  to  his  shriveled  cheeks.  His  dry,  matted 
hair  has  been  burned  by  the  sun  into  a  strange,  tawny  brown. 
His  expression  is  one  of  fixed,  stern,  mournful  thought.  As 
he  steps  stealthily  along,  advancing  toward  Antonina,  he  mut- 
ters to  himself,  and  clutches  mechanically  at  his  garments, 
with  his  lank,  shapeless  fingers.  The  radiant  moonlight  fall- 
ing fully  upon  his  countenance  invests  it  with  a  livid,  myste- 
rious, spectral  appearance :  seen  by  a  stranger  at  the  present 
moment  he  would  have  been  almost  awful  to  look  upon. 

This  was  the  man  who  had  intercepted  Vetranio  on  his 
journey  home,  and  who  had  now  hurried  back  so  as  to  re- 
gain his  accustomed  post  before  his  master's  return ;  for  he 
was  the  same  individual  mentioned  by  Numerian  as  his  aged 
convert,  Ulpius,  in  his  interview  with  the  land-holder  at  the 
Basilica  of  St.  Peter. 

When  Ulpius  had  arrived  within  a  few  paces  of  the  girl 
he  stopped,  saying,  in  a  hoarse,  thick  voice, 

"  Hide  your  toy — Numerian  is  at  the  gates !" 

Antonina  started  violently  as  she  listened  to  those  repul- 
sive accents.  The  blood  rushed  into  her  cheeks;  she  hastily 
covered  the  lute  with  her  robe ;  paused  an  instant,  as  if  in- 
tending to  speak  to  the  man,  then  shuddered  violently,  and 
hurried  toward  the  house. 

As  she  mounted  the  steps  -Numerian  met  her  in  the  JiaH- 
There  was  now  no  chance  of  hiding  the  lute  in  its  accus- 
tomed place. 

"You  stay  too  late  in  the  garden,"  said  the  father,  look- 
ing proudly,  in  spite  of  all  his  austerity,  upon  his  beautiful 
daughter,  as  she  stood  by  his  side.    "  But  what  affects  you  ?" 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  HOME.  87 

he  added,  noticing  her  confusion.  "You  tremble;  your  col- 
or comes  and  goes;  your  lips  quiver;  give  me  your  hand  !" 

As  Antonina  obeyed  him,  a  fold  of  the  treacherous  robe 
slipped  aside  and  discovered  a  part  of  the  frame  of  the  lute. 
Numerian's  quick  eye  discovered  it  immediately.  He  snatch- 
ed the  instrument  from  her  feeble  grasp.  His  astonishment 
on  beholding  it  was  too  great  for  words,  and  for  an  instant 
he  confronted  the  poor  girl,  whose  pale  face  looked  rigid  with 
terror,  in  ominous  and  expressive  silence. 

"This  thing,"  said  he  at  length,  "  this  invention  of  liber- 
tines in  my  house — in  my  daughter's  possession  !"  and  he 
dashed  the  lute  into  fragments  on  the  floor. 

For  one  moment  Antonina  looked  incredulously  on  the 
ruins  of  the  beloved  companion  which  was  the  centre  of  all 
her  happiest  expectations  for  future  days.  Then,  as  she  be- 
gan to  estimate  the  reality  of  her  deprivation,  her  eyes  lost 
all  their  heaven-born  brightness,  and  filled  to  overflowing 
with  the  tears  of  earth. 

"To  your  chamber!"  thundered  Xumerian,  as  she  knelt, 
sobbing  convulsively,  over  those  hapless  fragments.  "To 
your  chamber  !  To-morrow  shall  bring  this  mystery  of  in- 
iquity to  light !" 

She  rose  humbly  to  obey  him,  for  indignation  had  no  part 
in  the  emotions  that  shook  her  gentle  and  affectionate  na- 
ture. As  she  moved  toward  the  room  that  no  lute  was 
henceforth  to  occupy,  as  she  thought  on  the  morrow  that  no 
lute  was  henceforth  to  enliven,  her  grief  almost  overpowered 
her.  She  turned  back,  and  looked  imploringly  at  her  father, 
as  if  entreating  permission  to  pick  up  even  the  smallest  of 
the  fragments  at  his  feet. 

"To  your  chamber  I"  he  reiterated,  sternly.  "Am  I  to 
be  disobeyed  to  my  face  ?" 

Without  any  repetition  of  her  silent  remonstrance,  she  in- 
stantly retired.  As  soon  as  she  was  out  of  sight,  Ulpius  as- 
cended the  steps  and  stood  before  the  angered  father. 

"  Look,  Ulpius,"  cried  Nuraenan,  "  my  daughter,  whom  I 
have  so  carefully  cherished,  whom  I  intended  for  an  exam- 
ple to  the  world,  has  deceived  me,  even  thus  !" 

He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  ruins  of  the  unfortunate 
lute  ;  but  Ulpius  did  not  address  to  him  a  word  in  reply,  and 
he  hastily  continued : 


88  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THK  FALL  OF  ROME. 

"  I  will  not  sully  the  solemn  offices  of  to-night  by  inter- 
rupting them  with  my  worldly  affiiirs.  To-morrow  I  will 
interrogate  my  disobedient  child.  In  the  mean  time,  do  not 
imagine,  Ulpius,  that  I  connect  you  in  any  way  with  this 
wicked  and  unworthy  deception  !  In  you  I  have  every  con- 
fidence, in  your  faithfulness  I  have  every  hope !" 

Again  he  paused,  and  again  Ulpius  kept  silence.  Any 
one  less  agitated,  less  confiding  than  his  unsuspicious  mas- 
ter, would  have  remarked  that  a  faint  sinister  smile  was 
breaking  forth  upon  his  haggard  countenance.  But  Nume- 
rian's  indignation  was  still  too  violent  to  })ermit  him  to  ob- 
serve, and,  spite  of  his  eftbrts  to  control  himself,  he  again 
broke  forth  in  complaint. 

"  On  this  night  too,  of  all  others,"  cried  he,  "  when  I  had 
hoped  to  lead  her  among  my  little  assembly  of  the  faithful, 
to  join  in  their  prayers,  and  to  listen  to  my  exhortations — 
on  this  night  I  am  doomed  to  find  her  a  player  on  a  Pagan 
lute,  a  possessor  of  the  most  wanton  of  the  world's  vanities! 
God  give  me  patience  to  worship  this  night  with  unwander- 
ing  thoughts,  for  my  heart  is  vexed  at  the  transgression  of 
my  child,  as  the  heart  of  Eli  of  old  at  the  iniquities  of  his 
sons !" 

He  was  moving  rapidly  away,  when,  as  if  struck  with  a 
sudden  recollection,  he  stopped  abruptly,  and  again  address- 
ed his  gloomy  companion. 

"I  will  go  by  myself  to  the  chapel  to-night,"  said  he. 
"You,  Ulpius,  will  stay  to  keep  watch  over  my  disobedient 
child.  Be  vigilant,  good  friend,  over  my  house,  for  even 
now,  on  my  return,  I  thought  that  two  strangers  were  fol- 
lowing my  steps,  and  I  forebode  some  evil  in  store  for  me  as 
the  chastisement  for  my  sins,  even  greater  than  this  misery 
of  my  daughter's  transgression.  Be  watchful,  good  Ulpius 
—be  watchful !" 

And  as  he  hurried  away,  the  stern,  sei-ious  man  felt  as 
overwhelmed  at  the  outrage  that  had  been  offered  to  his 
gloomy  fanaticism,  as  the  weak,  timid  girl  at  the  destruc- 
tion that  had  been  wrecked  upon  her  harmless  lute. 

After  Numerian  had  departed,  the  sinister  smile  again 
appeared  on  the  countenance  of  Ulpius.  He  stood  for  a 
short  time  fixed  in  thought,  and  then  began  slowly  to  de- 
scend a  staircase  near  him,  which  led  to  some  subterranean 


ANTOXINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME,  89 

apartments.  He  had  not  gone  far,  when  a  slight  noise  be- 
came audible  at  an  extremity  of  the  corridor  above.  As  he 
listened  for  a  repetition  of  the  sound,  he  heard  a  sob,  and 
looking  cautiously  up,  discovered,  by  the  moonlight,  Anlo- 
nina  stepping  cautiously  along  the  marble  pavement  of  the 
hall. 

She  held  in  her  hand  a  little  lamp ;  her  small,  rosy  feet 
were  uncovered ;  the  tears  still  streamed  over  her  cheeks. 
She  advanced  with  the  greatest  caution  (as  if  fearful  of  be- 
ing overheard)  until  she  gained  the  part  of  the  floor  still 
strewn  with  the  ruins  of  the  broken  lute.  Here  she  knelt 
down,  and  pressed  each  fragment  that  lay  before  her  sep- 
arately to  her  lips.  Then,  hurriedly  concealing  a  single 
piece  in  her  bosom,  she  arose  and  stole  quickly  away,  in  the 
direction  by  which  she  had  come. 

"  Be  patient  till  the  dawn,"  muttered  her  faithless  guard- 
ian, gazing  after  her  from  his  concealment,  as  she  disappear- 
ed;  "it  will  bring  to  thy  lute  a  restorer,  and  to  Ulpius  an 
ally !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AK    APPRENTICESHIP    TO    THE    TEMPLE. 

The  action  of  our  characters,  during  the  night  included 
in  the  last  two  chapters,  has  now  come  to  a  pause.  Ve- 
tranio  is  awaiting  his  guests  for  the  banquet;  Numerian  is 
in  the  chapel,  preparing  the  discourse  that  he  is  to  deliver 
to  his  friends;  Ulpius  is  meditating  in  his  master's  house; 
Antonina  is  stretched  upon  her  couch,  caressing  the  precious 
fragment  that  she  has  saved  from  the  ruins  of  her  lute.  All 
the  immediate  agents  of  our  story  are,  for  the  present,  in 
repose. 

It  is  our  purpose  to  take  advantage  of  this  interval  of  in- 
action, and  direct  the  reader's  attention  to  a  different  coun- 
try from  that  selected  as  the  scene  of  our  romance,  and  to 
such  historical  events  of  past  years  as  connect  themselves 
remarkably  with  the  early  life  of  Numerian's  perfidious  con- 
vert. This  man  will  be  found  a  person  of  great  importance 
in  the  future  conduct  of  our  story.  It  is  necessary  to  the 
comprehension  of  his  character,  and  the  penetration  of  such 


90  ASTTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

of  his  purposes  as  have  been  already  hinted  at,  and  may 
subsequently  appear,  that  the  long  course  of  his  existence 
should  be  traced  upward  to  its  source. 

It  was  in  the  reign  of  Julian,  when  the  gods  of  the  Pagan 
achieved  their  last  victory  over  the  Gospel  of  the  Christian, 
that  a  decently  attired  man,  leading  by  the  hand  a  hand- 
some boy  of  fifteen  years  of  age,  entered  the  gates  of  Alex- 
andria, and  proceeded  hastily  toward  the  high-priest's  dwell- 
ing in  the  Temple  of  Serapis. 

After  a  stay  of  some  hours  at  his  destination,  the  man 
left  the  city  alone  as  hastily  as  he  entered  it,  and  was  never 
after  seen  at  Alexandria.  The  boy  remained  in  the  abode 
of  the  high-priest  until  the  next  day,  when  he  was  solemnly 
devoted  to  the  service  of  the  Temple. 

The  boy  was  the  young  Emilius,  afterward  called  Ulpius. 
He  was  nephew  to  the  high -priest,  to  whom  he  had  been 
confided  by  his  father,  a  merchant  of  Rome. 

Ambition  was  the  ruling  passion  of  the  father  of  Emilius. 
It  had  prompted  him  to  aspire  to  every  distinction  grant- 
ed to  the  successful  by  the  State,  but  it  had  not  gifted  him 
with  the  powers  requisite  to  turn  his  aspirations  in  any  in- 
stance into  acquisitions.  He  passed  through  existence  a  dis- 
appointed man,  planning  but  never  performing,  seeing  his 
more  fortunate  brother  rising  to  the  highest  distinction  in 
the  priesthood,  and  finding  himself  irretrievably  condemned 
to  exist  in  the  affluent  obscurity  insured  to  him  by  his  mer- 
cantile pursuits. 

When  his  brother  Macrinus,  on  Julian's  accession  to  the 
imperial  throne,  arrived  at  the  pinnacle  of  power  and  celeb- 
rity as  High-Priest  of  the  Temple  of  Serapis,  the  unsuccessful 
merchant  lost  all  hope  of  rivaling  his  relative  in  the  pursuit 
of  distinction.  His  insatiable  ambition,  discarded  from  him- 
self, now  settled  on  one  of  his  infant  sons.  He  determined 
that  his  child  should  be  successful  where  he  had  failed. 
Now  that  his  brother  had  secured  tlie  highest  elevation  in 
the  Temple,  no  calling  could  offer  more  direct  advantages  to 
a  member  of  his  household  than  the  priesthood.  His  family 
had  been  from  their  earliest  origin  rigid  pagans.  One  of 
them  had  already  attained  to  the  most  distinguished  honors 
of  his  gorgeous  worship.  He  determined  that  another  should 
nval  ids  kinsman,  and  that  that  other  should  be  his  eldest  son. 


ANTONINA;  OB,  the  fall  of  ROME.  91 

Firm  in  this  resolution,  he  at  once  devoted  his  child  to  the 
great  design  which  he  now  held  continually  in  view.  He 
knew  well  that  Paganism,  revived  though  it  was,  was  not 
the  universal  worship  that  it  had  been;  that  it  was  now 
secretly  i-esisted,  and  might  soon  be  openly  opposed  by  the 
persecuted  Christians  throughout  the  empire;  and  that  if 
the  young  generation  were  to  guard  it  successfully  from  all 
future  encroachments,  and  to  rise  securely  to  its  liighest 
honors,  more  must  be  exacted  from  them  than  the  easy  at- 
tachment to  the  ancient  religion  required  from  the  votaries 
of  former  days.  Then  the  performance  of  the  most  impor- 
tant offices  in  the  priesthood  was  compatible  with  the  pos- 
session of  military  or  political  rank.  .Now  it  was  to  the 
Temple,  and  to  the  Temple  only,  that  the  future  servant  of 
the  gods  should  be  devoted.  Kesolving  thus,  the  father 
took  care  that  all  the  son's  occupations  and  rewards  should, 
from  his  earliest  years,  be  in  some  way  connected  with  the 
career  for  which  he  was  intended.  His  childish  pleasures 
were  to  be  conducted  to  sacrifices  and  auguries;  his  child- 
ish playthings  and  prizes  were  images  of  the  deities.  No 
opposition  was  oifered  on  the  boy's  part  to  this  plan  of  edu- 
cation. Far  different  from  his  younger  brother,  whose  tur- 
bulent disposition  defied  all  authority,  he  was  naturally  do- 
cile ;  and  his  imagination,  vivid  beyond  his  years,  was  easily 
led  captive  by  any  remarkable  object  presented  to  it.  With 
such  encouragement,  his  father  became  thoroughly  engross- 
ed by  the  occupation  of  forming  him  for  his  future  exist- 
ence. His  mother's  influence  over  him  was  jealously  watch- 
ed ;  the  secret  expression  of  her  love,  of  her  sorrow  at  the 
prospect  of  parting  with  him,  was  ruthlessly  suppressed  when- 
ever it  was  discovered ;  and  his  younger  brother  was  neg- 
lected, almost  forgotten,  in  order  that  the  parental  watchful- 
ness might  be  entirely  and  invariably  devoted  to  the  eldest 
son. 

When  Emilius  had  numbered  fifteen  years,  his  father  saw 
with  delight  that  the  time  had  come  when  he  could  witness 
the  commencement  of  the  realization  of  all  his  projects.  The 
boy  \vas  removed  from  home,  taken  to  Alexandria,  and  glad- 
ly left,  by  his  proud  and  triumphant  father,  under  the  espe- 
cial guardianship  of  Macrinus,  the  high-priest. 

The  chief  of  the  Temple  fully  sympathized  in  his  broth- 


92  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

er's  designs  for  the  young  Emilius.  As  soon  as  tlie  boy  had 
entered  on  his  new  occupations,  he  was  told  that  he  must 
forget  all  that  he  had  left  behind  liiiu  at  Rome;  that  he 
must  look  upon  the  high-priest  as  his  father,  and  upon  the 
Temple,  henceforth,  as  his  home;  and  that  the  sole  object 
of  his  present  labors  and  future  ambition  must  be  to  rise  in 
the  service  of  the  gods.  Nor  did  Macrinus  stop  here.  So 
thoroughly  anxious  was  he  to  stand  to  his  pupil  in  the  place 
of  a  parent,  and  to  secure  his  allegiance  by  withdrawing  him 
in  every  way  from  the  world  in  which  he  had  hitherto 
lived,  that  he  even  changed  his  name,  giving  to  him  one 
of  his  own  appellations,  and  describing  it  as  a  privilege  to 
stimulate  him  to  future  exertions.  From  the  boy  Emilius, 
he  was  now  permanently  transformed  to  the  student  Ulpius. 
With  such  a  natural  disposition  as  we  have  already  de- 
scribed, and  under  such  guardianship  as  that  of  the  high- 
priest,  there  was  little  danger  that  Ulpius  would  disappoint 
the  unusual  expectations  which  had  been  formed  of  him. 
His  attention  to  his  new  duties  never  relaxed;  his  obedi- 
ence to  his  new  masters  never  wavered.  Whatever  Macri- 
nus demanded  of  him  he  was  sure  to  perform.  Whatever 
longings  he  might  feel  to  return  to  home,  he  never  discover- 
ed them  —  he  never  sought  to  gratify  the  tastes  naturally 
peculiar  to  his  age.  The  high-priest  and  his  colleagues  were 
astonished  at  the  extraordinary  readiness  with  which  the 
boy  himself  forwarded  their  intentions  for  him.  Had  they 
known  bow  elaborately  he  had  been  prepared  for  his  future 
employments  at  his  father's  house,  they  would  have  been 
less  astonished  at  their  pupil's  unusual  docility.  Trained 
as  he  had  been,  he  must  have  shown  a  more  than  human 
perversity  had  he  displayed  any  opposition  to  his  uncle's 
wishes.  He  had  been  permitted  no  childhood,  either  of 
thought  or  action.  His  natural  precocity  had  been  seized 
as  the  engine  to  force  his  faculties  into  a  perilous  and  un- 
wholesome maturity;  and  when  his  new  duties  demanded  his 
attention,  he  entered  on  them  with  the  same  sincerity  of  en- 
thusiasm which  his  boyish  coevals  would  have  exhibited  to- 
ward a  new  sport.  His  gradual  initiation  into  the  mysteries 
of  his  religion,  created  a  strange,  voluj)tuous  sensation  of 
fear  and  interest  in  his  mind.  He  heard  the  oracles,  and  he 
trembled ;  he  attended  the  sacrifices  and  the  auguries,  and 


ANTOXIXA;     or,  the    fall    of    ROME.  93 

he  wondered.  All  the  poetry  of  the  bold  and  beautiful  su- 
perstition to  which  he  was  devoted,  flowed  overwhelmingly 
into  his  young  heart,  absorbing  the  service  of  his  fresh  iin- 
airination,  and  transporting  him  incessantly  from  the  vital 
realities  of  the  outer  world  to  the  shadowy  regions  of  as- 
piration and  thought. 

But  his  duties  did  not  entirely  occupy  the  attention  of 
Ulpius.  The  boy  had  his  peculiar  pleasures  as  well  as  his 
peculiar  occupations.  AVhen  his  employments  were  over 
for  the  day,  it  was  a  strange,  unearthly,  vital  enjoyment  to 
him  to  wander  softly  in  the  shade  of  the  temple  porticoes, 
looking  down  from  his  great  mysterious  eminence  upon  the 
populous  and  sun-brightened  city  at  his  feet;  watching  the 
brilliant  expanse  of  the  waters  of  the  Nile  glittering  joyfully 
in  the  dazzling  and  pervading  light;  raising  his  eyes  from 
the  fields  and  woods,  the  palaces  and  gardens,  that  stretched 
out  before  him  below,  to  the  lovely  and  cloudless  sky  that 
watched  round  him  afar  and  above,  and  that  awoke  all  that 
his  new  duties  had  left  of  the  joyfulness,  the  affectionate 
sensibility  wliich  his  rare  intervals  of  uninterrupted  inter- 
course with  his  mother  had  implanted  in  his  heart.  Then, 
when  the  daylight  began  to  wane,  and  the  moon  and  stars 
already  grew  beautiful  in  their  places  in  the  firmament,  he 
would  pass  into  the  subterranean  vaults  of  the  edifice,  trem- 
bling, as  his  little  taper  scarcely  dispelled  the  dull,  solemn 
gloom,  and  listening  with  breathless  attention  for  the  voices 
of  those  guardian  spirits  whose  fabled  habitation  was  made 
in  the  apartments  of  the  sacred  place.  Or,  when  the  mul- 
titude had  departed  for  their  amusements  and  their  homes, 
he  would  steal  into  the  lofty  halls  and  wander  round  the 
pedestals  of  the  mighty  statues,  breathing  fearfully  the  still 
atmosphere  of  the  temple,  and  watching  the  passage  of  the 
cold,  melancholy  moonbeams  through  the  openings  in  the 
I'oof,  and  over  the  colossal  limbs  and  features  of  the  images 
of  the  Pagan  gods.  Sometimes,  when  the  services  of  Se- 
rapis  and  the  cares  attendant  on  his  communications  with 
the  emperor  were  concluded,  Macrinus  would  lead  his  pupil 
into  the  garden  of  the  priests,  and  praise  him  for  his  docility 
till  his  heart  throbbed  with  gratitude  and  pride.  Sometimes 
he  would  convey  him  cautiously  outside  the  precincts  of  the 
sacred  place,  and  show  him,  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  silent, 


94  ANTONINA ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

pale,  melancholy  men,  gliding  suspiciously  through  the  gay, 
crowded  streets.  Those  fugitive  figures  he  would  declare 
were  the  enemies  of  the  Temple  and  all  that  it  contained ; 
conspirators  against  the  emperor  and  the  gods;  wretches 
who  were  to  be  driven  forth  as  outcasts  from  humanity ; 
whose  appellation  was  "Christian  ;"  and  whose  impious  wor- 
ship, if  tolerated,  would  deprive  him  of  the  uncle  whom  he 
loved,  of  the  Temple  that  he  reverenced,  and  of  the  priestly 
dignity  and  renown  which  it  should  be  his  life's  ambition  to 
acquire. 

Thus  tutored  in  his  duties  by  his  guardian,  and  in  his  rec- 
reations by  himself,  as  time  wore  on  the  boy  gradually  lost 
every  remaining  characteristic  of  his  age.  Even  the  remem- 
brance of  his  mother  and  his  mother's  love  grew  faint  on 
his  memory.  Serious,  solitary,  thoughtful,  he  lived  but  to 
succeed  in  the  Temple ;  he  labored  but  to  emulate  the  high- 
priest.  All  his  feelings  and  faculties  were  now  enslaved  by 
an  ambition,  at  once  unnatural  at  his  present  age,  and  om- 
inous of  affliction  for  his  future  life.  The  design  that  Ma- 
crinus  had  contemplated  as  the  work  of  years,  was  perfected 
in  a  few  months.  The  hope  that  his  father  had  scarce  dared 
to  entertain  for  his  manhood,  was  already  accomplished  in 
his  youth. 

In  these  preparations  for  future  success  passed  three  years 
of  the  life  of  Ulpius.  At  the  expiration  of  that  period,  the 
death  of  Julian  darkened  the  brilliant  prospects  of  the  pa- 
gan world.  Scarcely  had  the  priests  of  Serapis  recovered 
the  first  shock  of  astonishment  and  grief  consequent  upon 
the  fatal  news  of  the  vacancy  in  the  imperial  throne,  when 
the  edict  of  toleration,  issued  by  Jovian,  the  new  emperor, 
reached  the  city  of  Alexandria,  and  was  elevated  on  the 
walls  of  the  temple. 

The  first  sight  of  this  proclamation  permitting  fi-eedom 
of  worship  to  the  Christians,  aroused  in  the  highly-wrought 
disposition  of  Ulpius  the  most  violent  emotions  of  anger  and 
contempt.  The  enthusiasm  of  his  character  and  age,  guided 
invariably  in  the  one  direction  of  his  worship,  took  the  char- 
acter of  the  wildest  fanaticism  when  he  discovered  the  em- 
peror's careless  infringement  of  the  supremacy  of  the  Tem- 
ple. He  volunteered,  in  the  first  moments  of  his  fury,  to 
tear  down  the  edict  from  the  walls ;  to  lead  an  attack  on 


ANTONINA;  or,  the  fall  of  ROME.  95 

the  meetings  of  the  triumphant  Christians;  or  to  travel  to 
the  imperial  abode,  and  exhort  Jovian  to  withdraw  his  act 
of  perilous  leniency  ere  it  was  too  late.  With  difficulty  did 
his  more  cautious  confederates  restrain  liim  from  the  execu- 
tion of  his  impetuous  designs.  For  two  days  he  withdrew 
himself  from  his  companions,  and  brooded  in  solitude  over 
the  injury  offered  to  his  beloved  superstition,  and  the  pro- 
spective augmentation  of  the  influence  of  the  Christian  sect. 

But  the  despair  of  the  young  enthusiast  was  destined  to 
be  further  augmented  by  a  private  calamity,  at  once  myste- 
rious in  its  cause  and  overwhelming  in  its  effect.  Two  days 
after  the  publication  of  the  edict,  the  High-Priest  Macrinus, 
in  the  prime  of  vigor  and  manhood,  suddenly  died. 

To  narrate  the  confusion  and  horror  within  and  without 
the  temple  on  the  discovery  of  this  fatal  event ;  to  describe 
the  execrations  and  tumults  of  the  priests  and  the  populace, 
who  at  once  suspected  the  favored  and  ambitious  Christians 
of  causing,  by  poison,  the  death  of  their  spiritual  ruler,  might 
be  interesting  as  a  history  of  the  manners  of  the  times,  but 
is  immaterial  to  the  object  of  this  chapter.  We  prefer  rath- 
er to  trace  the  effect  on  the  mind  of  Ulpius,  of  his  personal 
and  private  bereavement ;  of  this  loss — irretrievable  to  him 
— of  the  master  whom  he  loved,  and  the  guardian  whom  it 
was  his  privilege  to  revere. 

An  illness  of  some  months,  during  the  latter  part  of  which 
his  attendants  trembled  for  his  life  and  reason,  sufficiently 
attested  the  sincerity  of  the  grief  of  Ulpius  for  the  loss  of 
his  protector.  During  his  paroxj^sms  of  delirium,  the  priests 
who  watched  round  his  bed,  drew  from  his  ravings  many 
wise  conclusions  as  to  the  effects  that  his  seizure  and  its 
causes  were  likely  to  produce  on  his  future  character;  but 
in  spite  of  all  their  penetration,  they  were  still  far  from  ap- 
preciating to  a  tithe  of  its  extent  the  revolution  that  his 
bereavement  had  wrought  in  his  disposition.  The  boy  him- 
self, until  the  moment  of  the  high-priest's  death,  had  never 
been  aware  of  the  depth  of  his  devotion  to  his  second  father. 
Warped  as  they  had  been  by  his  natural  parent,  the  affec- 
tionate qualities  that  were  the  mainspring  of  his  nature  had 
never  been  entirely  destroyed  ;  and  they  seized  on  every 
kind  word  and  gentle  action  of  Macrinus,  as  food  which  had 
been  srudged  them  since  their  birth.     Morally  and  intellect- 


96  A5JT0NINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

ually,  Macrinus  had  been  to  him  the  beacon  that  pointed  the 
direction  of  his  course,  the  judge  tliat  regulated  his  conduct, 
the  Muse  that  he  looked  to  for  inspiration.  And  now,  when 
this  link  which  had  connected  every  ramification  of  his  most 
cherished  and  governing  ideas  was  suddenly  snapped  asun- 
der, a  desolation  sunk  down  upon  his  mind  which  at  once 
paralyzed  its  elasticity  and  withered  its  freshness.  He 
glanced  back,  and  he  saw  nothing  but  a  home  from  whose 
pleasures  and  affections  his  father's  ambition  had  exiled  him 
forever.  He  looked  forward,  and  as  he  thought  of  his  unfit- 
ness, both  from  character  and  education,  to  mix  in  the  world 
as  others  mixed  in  it,  he  saw  no  guiding-star  of  social  hap- 
piness for  the  conduct  of  his  existence  to  come.  There  was 
now  no  resource  left  for  him,  but  entirely  to  deliver  himself 
up  to  those  pursuits  which  had  made  his  home  as  a  strange 
place  to  him,  which  were  hallowed  by  their  connection  with 
the  lost  object  of  his  attachment,  and  which  would  confer 
the  sole  happiness  and  distinction  that  he  could  hope  for  in 
the  wide  world  on  his  future  life. 

In  addition  to  this  motive  for  labor  in  his  vocation,  there 
existed  in  the  mind  of  Ulpius  a  deep  and  settled  feeling  that 
animated  him  with  unceasing  ardor  for  the  prosecution  of 
his  cherished  occupations.  This  governing  principle  was 
detestation  of  the  Christian  sect.  The  suspicion  that  others 
had  entertained  regarding  the  death  of  the  high-priest  was, 
lo  his  mind,  a  certainty.  He  rejected  every  idea  which  op- 
posed his  determined  persuasion  that  the  jealousy  of  the 
Christians  had  prompted  them  to  the  murder,  by  poison,  of 
the  most  powerful  and  zealous  of  the  pagan  priests.  To  la- 
bor incessantly  until  he  attained  the  influence  and  position 
formerly  enjoyed  by  his  relative,  and  to  use  that  influence 
and  position,  when  once  acquired,  as  the  means  of  avenging 
Macrinus,  by  sweeping  every  vestige  of  the  Christian  faith 
from  the  face  of  the  earth,  were  now  the  settled  purposes  of 
his  heart.  Inspired  by  his  determination,  with  the  deliber- 
ate wisdom  which  is,  in  most  men,  the  result  only  of  the  ex- 
perience of  years,  he  employed  the  first  days  of  his  convales- 
cence in  cautiously  maturing  his  future  plans,  and  impartial- 
ly calculating  his  chances  of  success.  This  self-examination 
completed,  he  devoted  himself  at  once  and  forever  to  his 
life's  great  design.     Notliing  wearied,  nothing  discouraged. 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  ROME.  97 

nothing  impeded  him.  Outward  events  passed  by  him  un- 
noticed ;  the  city's  afflictions  and  the  city's  triumphs  spoke 
no  longer  to  liis  heart.  Year  succeeded  to  year,  but  Time  liad 
no  tongue  for  him.  Paganism  gradually  sank,  and  Christian- 
ity imperceptibly  rose,  but  Cliange  spread  no  picture  before 
his  eyes.  The  whole  outward  world  was  a  void  to  him  un- 
til the  moment  arrived  that  beheld  him  successful  in  his  de- 
signs. His  preparations  for  the  future  absorbed  every  facul- 
ty of  his  nature,  and  left  him,  as  to  the  present,  a  mere  autom- 
aton, reflecting  no  principle,  and  animated  by  no  event — a 
machine  that  moved,  but  did  not  perceive  —  a  body  that 
acted,  without  a  mind  that  thought. 

Returning  for  a  moment  to  the  outward  world,  we  find 
that  on  the  death  of  Jovian,  in  364,  Yalcntinian,  the  new 
emperor,  continued  the  system  of  toleration  adopted  by  his 
predecessor.  On  his  death,  in  375,  Gratian,  the  successor  to 
the  imperial  throne,  so  far  improved  on  the  example  of  the 
two  former  potentates  as  to  range  himself  boldly  on  the  side  , 
of  the  partisans  of  the  new  faith.  Not  content  with  merely 
encouraging,  both  by  precept  and  example,  the  growth  of 
Christianit}',  the  emperor  further  testified  his  zeal  for  the 
rising  religion,  by  inflicting  incessant  persecutions  upon  the 
rapidly  decreasing  advocates  of  the  ancient  worship ;  serv- 
ing, by  these  acts  of  his  reign,  as  pioneer  to  his  successor, 
Theodosius  the  Great,  in  the  religious  revolution  which  that 
illustrious  opponent  of  Paganism  was  destined  to  effect. 

The  death  of  Gratian,  in  383,  saw  Ulpius  enrolled  among 
the  chief  priests  of  the  Temple,  and  pointed  out  as  the  next 
inheritor  of  the  important  office  once  held  by  the  powerful 
and  active  Macrinns.  Beholding  himself  thus  secure  of  the 
distinction  for  which  he  had  labored,  the  aspiring  priest 
found  leisure,  at  length,  to  look  forth  upon  the  affairs  of  the 
passing  day.  From  every  side  desolation  darkened  the  pros- 
pect that  he  beheld.  Already,  throughout  many  provinces 
of  the  empire,  the  temples  of  the  gods  had  been  overthrown 
by  the  destructive  zeal  of  the  triumphant  Christians.  Al- 
ready hosts  of  the  terrified  people,  fearing  that  the  fate  of 
their  idols  might  ultimately  be  their  own,  finding  themselves 
deserted  by  their  disbanded  priests,  and  surrounded  by  the 
implacable  enemies  of  the  ancient  faith,  had  renounced  their 
worship  for  the  sake  of  saving  their  lives  and  securing  their 

5 


98  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

property.  On  the  wide  field  of  Pagan  ruin  there  now  rose 
but  one  structure  entirely  unimpaired.  The  Temple  of  Se- 
rapis  still  reared  its  head — unshaken,  unbending,  unpolluted. 
Here  the  sacrifice  still  prospered,  and  the  people  still  bowed 
in  worshijx  Before  this  monument  of  tlie  religious  glories 
of  ages,  even  the  rising  power  of  Christian  supiemacy  quail- 
ed in  dismay.  Though  the  ranks  of  its  once  multitudinous 
congregations  were  now  perceptibly  thinned,  tliough  the  new 
churches  sw'armed  with  converts,  though  the  edicts  from 
Rome  denounced  it  as  a  blot  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  its 
gloomy  and  solitary  grandeur  was  still  preserved.  No  un- 
hallowed foot  trod  its  secret  recesses;  no  destroying  hand 
was  raised,  as  yet,  against  its  ancient  and  glorious  walls. 

Indignation,  but  not  despondency,  filled  the  heart  of  Ul- 
pius  as  he  surveyed  the  situation  of  the  Pagan  world.  A 
determination  nourished  as  his  had  been  by  the  reflections 
of  years,  and  matured  by  incessant  industry  of  deliberation, 
is  above  all  those  shocks  which  aftect  a  hasty  decision  or  de- 
stroy a  wavering  intention.  Impervious  to  failure,  disasters 
urge  it  into  action,  but  never  depress  it  to  repose.  Its  ex- 
istence is  the  air  that  preserves  the  vitality  of  the  mind — 
the  spring  that  moves  the  action  of  the  thoughts.  Never, 
for  a  moment,  did  Ulpius  waver  in  his  devotion  to  his  great 
design,  or  despair  of  its  ultimate  execution  and  success. 
Though  every  succeeding  day  brought  the  news  of  fresli 
misfortunes  for  the  Pagans  and  fresh  triumphs  for  the  Chris- 
tians, still,  with  a  few  of  his  more  zealous  comrades,  he  per- 
sisted in  expecting  the  advent  of  another  Julian,  and  a  day 
of  restoration  for  the  dismantled  shrines  of  the  deities  that 
he  served.  While  the  Temple  of  Serapis  stood  uninjured,  to 
give  encouragement  to  his  labors  and  refuge  to  his  perse- 
cuted brethren,  there  existed  i'or  him  such  an  earnest  of 
success  as  would  spur  him  to  any  exertion,  and  nerve  him 
against  any  peril. 

And  now^,  to  the  astonishment  of  priests  and  congrega- 
tions, the  silent,  thoughtful,  solitary  Ulpius,  suddenly  started 
from  his  long  repose,  and  stood  forth  the  fiery  advocate  of 
the  rights  of  his  invaded  worship.  In  a  few  days,  tiie  fame 
of  his  addresses  to  the  Pagans  who  still  attended  the  rites  of 
Serapis  spread  throughout  the  whole  city.  The  boldest 
among  the  Christians,  as  they  passed  the  temple  walls,  in- 


ANTONlNA  ;  Oft,  THE  PALL  01*  ROME.  90 

voluntarily  trembled  when  they  heard  the  vehemence  of  the 
applause  which  arose  from  the  audience  of  the  inspired 
priest.  Addressed  to  all  varieties  of  age  and  character, 
these  harangues  woke  an  echo  in  every  breast  they  reached. 
To  the  young  they  were  clothed  in  all  the  poetry  of  the 
worship  for  which  they  pleaded.  They  dwelt  on  the  altars 
of  Venus  that  the  Christians  would  lay  waste  ;  on  the  wood- 
lands that  the  Christians  would  disenchant  of  their  Dryads ; 
on  the  hallowed  Arts  that  the  Christians  would  arise  and 
destroy.  To  the  aged  they  called  up  remembrances  of  the 
glories  of  the  past,  achieved  through  the  favor  of  the  gods; 
of  ancestors  who  had  died  in  their  service ;  of  old  forgotten 
loves  and  joys  and  successes  that  had  grown  and  prospered 
under  the  gentle  guardianship  of  the  deities  of  old — while 
the  unvarying  burden  of  their  conclusion  to  all  was  the  reit- 
erated assertion  that  the  illustrious  Macrinus  had  died  a  vic- 
tim to  the  toleration  of  the  Christian  sect. 

But  the  efforts  of  Ulpius  were  not  contined  to  the  deliv- 
ery of  orations.  Every  moment  of  his  leisure  time  was  ded- 
icated to  secret  pilgrimages  into  Alexandria.  Careless  of 
peril,  regardless  of  threats,  the  undaunted  enthusiast  pene- 
trated into  the  most  private  meeting- places  of  the  Chris- 
tians, reclaiming  on  every  side  apostates  to  the  Pagan  creed, 
and  defying  the  hostility  of  half  the  city  from  the  strong- 
hold of  the  temple  walls.  Day  after  day  fresh  recruits  ar- 
rived to  swell  the  ranks  of  the  worshipers  of  Serapis.  The 
few  members  of  the  scattered  congregations  of  the  prov- 
inces, who  still  remained  faithful  to  the  ancient  worship, 
were  gathered  together  in  Alexandria  by  the  private  mes- 
sengers of  the  unwearied  Ulpius.  Already  tumults  began 
to  take  place  between  the  Pagans  and  the  Christians;  and 
even  now  the  priest  of  Serapis  prepared  to  address  a  protest 
to  the  new  emperor  in  behalf  of  the  ancient  religion  of  the 
land.  At  this  moment  it  seemed  probable  that  the  heroic 
attempts  of  one  man  to  prop  the  structure  of  superstition, 
whose  foundations  were  undermined  throughout,  and  whose 
walls  were  attacked  by  thousands,  might  actually  be  ci-owu- 
ed  with  success. 

But  Time  rolled  on  ;  and  with  him  came  inexorable  Change, 
trampling  over  the  little  barriers  set  up  against  it  by  human 
opposition,  and  erecting  its -strange  and  transitory  fabrics 


100         ANTONINA;  or,  the  fall  of  ROME. 

triumphantly  in  their  stead.  In  vain  did  the  devoted  priest 
exert  all  his  powers  to  augment  and  combine  liis  scattered 
band ;  in  vain  did  the  mighty  Temple  display  its  ancient 
majesty,  its  gorgeous  sacrifices,  its  mysterious  auguries. 
The  spirit  of  Christianity  was  forth  for  triumph  on  the  earth 
— the  last  destinies  of  Paganism  were  fast  accomplisliing. 
Yet  a  few  seasons  more  of  unavailing  resistance  passed  by ; 
and  then  the  Archbishop  of  Alexandria  issued  his  decree 
that  the  Temple  of  Serapis  should  be  destroyed. 

At  the  rumor  of  their  primate's  determination,  the  Chris- 
tian fanatics  rose  by  swarms  from  every  corner  of  Egypt, 
and  hurried  into  Alexandria  to  be  present  at  the  work  of 
demolition.  From  the  arid  solitudes  of  the  desert  —  from 
their  convents  on  rocks,  and  their  caverns  in  the  earth,  hosts 
of  rejoicing  monks  flew  to  the  city  gates,  and  ranged  them- 
selves with  the  soldiery  and  the  citizens,  impatient  for  the 
assault.  At  the  dawn  of  morning  this  assembly  of  destroy- 
ers was  convened  ;  and  as  the  sun  rose  over  Alexandria  they 
arrived  before  the  temple  walls. 

The  gates  of  the  glorious  structure  were  barred — the  walls 
were  crowded  with  their  Pagan  defenders.  A  still,  dead, 
mysterious  silence  reigned  over  the  whole  edifice;  and  of 
all  the  men  who  thronged  it,  one  only  moved  from  his  ap- 
pointed place;  one  only  wandered  incessantly  from  point  to 
point,  wherever  the  building  was  open  to  assault.  Those 
among  the  besiegers  who  were  nearest  the  temple  saw  in 
this  presiding  genius  of  the  preparations  for  defense  the  ob- 
ject at  once  of  their  most  malignant  hatred,  and  their  most 
ungovernable  dread — Ulpius,  the  priest. 

As  soon  as  the  archbishop  gave  the  signal  for  the  assault, 
a  band  of  monks — their  harsh,  discordant  voices  screaming 
fragments  of  psalms,  their  tattered  garments  waving  in  the 
air,  their  cadaverous  faces  gleaming  with  ferocious  joy — led 
the  way,  placed  the  first  ladders  against  the  walls,  and  be- 
gan the  attack.  From  all  sides  the  temple  was  assailed  by 
the  infuriated  besiegers,  and  on  all  sides  it  was  successfully 
defended  by  the  resolute  besieged.  Shock  after  shock  fell 
upon  the  massive  gates  without  forcing  them  to  recede ; 
missile  after  missile  was  hurled  at  the  building,  but  no 
breach  Avas  made  in  its  solid  surface.  Multitudes  scaled 
the  walls,  gained  the  outer  porticoes,  and  slauglitered  their 


ANTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  101 

Pagan  defenders,  but  were  incessantly  repulsed  in  their  turn 
ere  they  could  make  their  advantage  good.  Over  and  over 
again  did  the  assailants  seem  on  the  point  of  storming  the 
temple  successfully,  but  the  figure  of  Ulpius,  invariably  ap- 
pearing at  the  critical  moment  among  his  disheartened  fol- 
lowers, acted  like  a  fatality  in  destroying  the  effect  of  the 
most  daring  exertions  and  the  most  important  triumphs. 
Wherever  there  was  danger,  wherever  there  was  carnage, 
wherever  there  was  despair,  thither  strode  the  undaunted 
priest,  inspiring  tlie  bold,  succoring  the  wounded,  reanima- 
ting the  feeble.  Blinded  by  no  stratagem,  wearied  by  no 
fatigue,  there  was  sometiiing  almost  demoniac  in  his  activ- 
ity for  destruction,  in  his  determination  under  defeat.  The 
besiegers  marked  his  course  round  the  temple  by  the  ca- 
lamities that  befell  them  at  his  every  step.  If  the  bodies 
of  slaughtered  Christians  were  flung  down  upon  them  from 
the  walls,  they  felt  that  Ulpius  was  there.  If  the  bravest 
of  the  soldiery  hesitated  at  mounting  the  ladders,  it  was 
known  that  Ulpius  was  directing  the  defeat  of  their  com- 
rades above.  If  a  sally  from  the  temple  drove  back  tlie  ad- 
vanced guard  upon  the  reserves  in  the  rear,  it  was  pleaded 
as  their  excuse  that  Ulpius  was  fighting  at  the  head  of  his 
pagan  bands.  Crowd  on  crowd  of  Christian  warriors  still 
pressed  forward  to  the  attack;  but,  though  the  ranks  of  the 
unbelievers  were  perceptibly  thinned,  though  the  gates  that 
defended  them  at  last  began  to  quiver  before  the  reiterated 
blows  by  which  they  were  assailed,  every  court  of  the  sa- 
cred edifice  yet  remained  in  the  possession  of  the  besieged, 
and  was  at  the  disposal  of  the  unconquered  captain  who  or- 
ganized the  defense. 

Depiessed  by  the  failure  of  his  efforts,  and  horrified  at  the 
carnage  already  perpetrated  among  his  adherents,  the  arch- 
bishop suddenly  commanded  a  cessation  of  hostilities,  and 
proposed  to  the  defenders  of  the  temple  a  short  and  favor- 
able truce.  After  some  delay,  and  api»arently  at  the  ex- 
pense of  some  discord  among  their  laiiks,  the  pagans  sent  to 
the  primate  an  assurance  of  their  acceptance  of  his  terms, 
which  were  that  both  parties  should  abstain  from  any  fur- 
ther struggle  for  the  ascendancy  until  an  edict  from  Theo- 
dosius  determining  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  temple  should 
be  applied  for  and  obtained. 


102  antonina;  ok,  the  fall  of  rome. 

The  truce  once  agreed  on,  the  wide  space  before  the  res- 
pited edifice  was  gradually  cleared  of  its  occupants.  Slow- 
ly and  sadly  the  archbishop  and  his  followers  departed 
from  the  ancient  walls  whose  summits  they  had  assaulted  in 
vain ;  and  when  the  sun  went  down,  of  the  great  multitude 
congregated  in  the  morning  a  few  corpses  were  all  that  re- 
mained. Within  the  sacred  building,  Death  and  Repose 
ruled  with  the  night,  where  morning  had  brightly  glittered 
on  Life  and  Action.  Tiie  wounded,  the  wearied,  and  the 
cold,  all  now  lay  hushed  alike,  fanned  by  the  night  breezes 
that  wandered  through  the  lofty  porticoes,  or  soothed  by  the 
obscurity  that  reigned  over  the  silent  halls.  Among  the 
ranks  of  the  Pagan  devotees  but  one  man  still  toiled  and 
thought.  Round  and  round  the  temple,  restless  as  a  wild 
beast  that  is  threatened  in  his  lair,  watchful  as  a  lonely  spirit 
in  a  city  of  strange  tombs,  wandered  the  solitary  and  brood- 
ing Ulpius.  For  him  there  was  no  rest  of  body — no  tran- 
quillity of  mind.  On  the  events  of  the  next  few  days  hover- 
ed the  fearful  chance  that  was  soon,  either  for  misery  or  hap- 
piness, to  influence  irretrievably  the  years  of  his  future  life. 
Round  and  round  the  mighty  walls  he  watched  with  mechan- 
ical and  useless  anxiety.  Every  stone  in  the  building  was 
eloquent  to  his  lonely  heart — beautiful  to  his  wild  imagina- 
tion. On  those  barren  structures  stretched  for  him  the  loved 
and  fertile  home;  there  was  the  shrine  for  whose  glory  his 
intellect  had  been  enslaved,  for  whose  honor  his  youth  had 
been  sacrificed !  Round  and  round  the  secret  recesses  and 
sacred  courts  he  paced  with  hurried  footstep,  cleansing  with 
gentle  and  industrious  hand  the  stains  of  blood  and  the  de- 
filements of  warfare  from  the  statues  at  his  side.  Sad,  soli- 
tary, thoughtful,  as  in  the  first  days  of  his  apprenticeship  to 
the  gods,  he  now  roved  in  the  same  moonlit  recesses  where 
Macrinus  had  taught  him  in  his  youth.  As  the  menacing 
tumults  of  the  day  had  aroused  his  fierceness,  so  the  stillness 
of  the  quiet  night  awakened  his  gentleness.  He  had  com- 
bated for  the  temple  in  the  morning  as  a  son  for  a  parent, 
and  he  now  watched  over  it  at  night  as  a  miser  over  his 
treasure,  as  a  lover  over  his  mistress,  as  a  mother  over  her 
child ! 

The  days  passed  on ;  and  at  length  the  memorable  morn- 
ins:  arrived   which  was  to  determine  the  fate  of  the  last 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  103 

temple  that  Christian  fivnaticisin  had  spared  to  the  admira- 
tion of  the  world.  At  an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  the  di- 
minished numbers  of  the  Pagan  zealots  met  their  re-enforced 
and  determined  opponents — both  sides  being  alike  unarmed 
— in  the  great  square  of  Alexandria.  The  imperial  rescript 
was  then  publicly  read.  It  began  by  assuring  the  Pagans 
that  their  priest's  plea  for  protection  for  the  temple  had 
received  the  same  consideration  whicii  had  been  bestowed 
on  the  petition  against  the  gods,  presented  by  the  Christian 
archbishop ;  and  ended  by  proclaiming  the  commands  of 
the  emperor  that  Serapis  and  all  other  idols  in  Alexandria 
should  immediately  be  destroyed. 

The  shout  of  triumph  which  followed  the  conclusion  of  the 
imperial  edict  still  rose  from  the  Christian  ranks  when  the 
advanced  guard  of  the  soldiers  appointed  to  insure  the  exe- 
cution of  the  emperor's  designs  appeared  in  the  square.  For 
a  few  minutes  the  forsaken  Pagans  stood  rooted  to  the  spot 
where  they  had  assembled,  gazing  at  the  warlike  prepara- 
tions around  them  in  a  stupor  of  bewilderment  and  despair. 
Then,  as  they  recollected  how  diminished  were  their  num- 
bers, how  arduous  had  been  their  first  defense  against  a  few, 
and  how  impossible  would  be  a  second  defense  against  many, 
from  the  boldest  to  the  feeblest,  a  panic  seized  on  them ; 
and,  regardless  ofUlpius,  regardless  of  honor,  regardless  of 
the  gods,  they  turned  with  one  accord  and  fled  from  the 
place. 

With  the  flight  of  the  Pagans  the  work  of  demolition  be- 
gan. Even  women  and  children  hurried  to  join  in  the  wel- 
come task  of  indiscriminate  destruction.  No  defenders  on 
this  occasion  barred  the  gates  of  the  temple  to  the  Chris- 
tian hosts.  The  sublime  solitude  of  the  tenantless  building 
was  outraged  and  invaded  in  an  instant.  Statues  were  bro- 
ken, gold  was  carried  off,  doors  were  splintered  into  frag- 
ments ;  but  here  for  a  while  the  progress  of  demolition  was 
delayed.  Those  to  whom  the  labor  of  ruining  the  outward 
structure  had  been  confided  were  less  successful  than  their 
neighbors  who  had  pillaged  its  contents.  The  ponderous 
stones  of  the  pillars,  the  massive  surfaces  of  the  walls,  resist- 
ed the  most  vigorous  of  their  puny  efforts,  and  forced  them 
to  remain  contented  with  mutilating  that  which  they  could 
not  destroy  —  with  tearing  off  roofs,  defacing  marbles,  and 


104         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

demolishing  capitals.  The  rest  of  the  buildings  remained 
uninjured,  and  grander  even  now  in  the  wildness  of  ruin 
than  ever  it  had  been  in  the  stateliness  of  perfection  and 
strength. 

But  the  most  important  achievement  still  remained ;  the 
death-wound  of  Paganism  was  yet  to  be  struck;  the  idol  Se- 
rapis,  which  had  ruled  the  hearts  of  millions,  and  was  renown- 
ed in  the  remotest  corners  of  the  empire,  was  to  be  destroy- 
ed !  A  breathless  silence  pervaded  the  Christian  ranks  as 
they  tilled  the  hall  of  the  god.  A  superstitious  dread  to 
which  they  had  hitherto  thought  themselves  superior  over- 
came their  hearts,  as  a  single  soldier,  bolder  than  his  fellows, 
mounted  by  a  ladder  to  the  head  of  the  colossal  statue,  and 
struck  at  its  cheek  with  an  axe.  The  l)low  had  scarcely 
been  dealt  when  a  deep  groan  was  heard  fiom  the  opposite 
wall  of  the  apartment,  succeeded  by  a  noise  of  retreating 
footsteps;  and  then  all  was  silent  again.  For  a  few  min- 
utes this  incident  stayed  the  feet  of  those  who  were  about 
to  join  their  companion  in  the  mutilation  of  the  idol,  but 
after  an  interval  their  hesitation  vanished ;  they  dealt  blow 
after  blow  at  the  statue  and  no  more  groans  followed — no 
more  sounds  were  heard,  save  the  wild  echoes  of  the  strokes 
of  hammer,  crowbar,  and  club  resounding  through  the  lofty 
hall.  In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  image  of  Se- 
rapis  lay  in  great  fragments  on  the  marble  floor.  The  multi- 
tude seized  on  the  limbs  of  the  idol,  and  ran  forth  to  drag 
them  in  triumph  through  the  streets.  Yet  a  few  minutes 
more,  and  the  ruins  were  untenanted,  the  temple  was  silent. 
Paganism  was  destroyed ! 

Throughout  the  ravaging  course  of  the  Christians  over 
the  temple,  they  had  been  followed  with  dogged  persever- 
ance, and  at  the  same  time  with  the  most  perfect  impunity 
by  the  only  Pagan  of  all  his  brethren  who  liad  not  sought 
safety  by  flight.  This  man,  being  acquainted  with  every 
private  passage  and  staircase  in  the  sacred  building,  was 
enabled  to  be  secretly  present  at  each  fresh  act  of  demoli- 
tion, in  whatever  part  of  the  edifice  it  might  be  perpetrated. 
From  hall  to  hall,  and  from  room  to  room,  he  trat'ked  with 
noiseless  step  and  glaring  eye  the  movements  of  the  Chris- 
tian mob — now  hiding  himself  behind  a  pillar,  now  passing 
into  concealed  cavities  in  the  walls,  now  looking  down  from 


ANTONIXA  ;    OR,  THK    FALL    OP    ROME.  105 

imperceptible  fissures  in  the  roof;  but,  whatever  liis  situa- 
tion, tnvariably  watching  from  it,  with  the  same  industry  of 
attention,  and  the  same  silence  of  emotion,  the  minutest  acts 
of  spoliation  committed  by  the  most  humble  followers  of 
the  Christian  ranks.  It  was  only  when  he  entered,  with  the 
victorious  ravagers,  the  vast  apartment  occujiied  by  the  idol 
Serapis,  that  the  man's  countenance  began  to  give  evidence 
of  the  agony  under  which  his  heart  was  writhing  within 
him.  He  mounted  a  private  staircase  cut  in  the  hollow  of 
the  massive  wall  of  the  room,  and  gaining  a  passage  that 
ran  round  the  extremities  of  the  ceiling,  looked  through  a 
sort  of  lattice  concealed  in  the  ornaments  of  the  cornice. 
As  he  gazed  down  and  saw  the  soldier  mounting,  axe  in 
hand,  to  the  idol's  head,  great  drops  of  perspiration  trickled 
from  his  forehead.  His  hot,  thick  breath  hissed  through  his 
closed  teeth,  and  his  hands  strained  at  the  stiong  metal 
supports  of  the  lattice  until  they  bent  beneath  his  grasp. 
When  the  stroke  descended  on  the  image  he  closed  his  eyes. 
When  the  fragment  detached  by  the  blow  fell  on  the  floor, 
a  groan  burst  from  his  quivering  lips.  For  one  moment 
more  he  glared  down,  with  a  gaze  of  horror,  upon  the  multi- 
tude at  his  feet,  and  then  with  frantic  speed  he  descended 
the  steep  stairs  by  which  he  had  mounted  to  the  roof,  and 
fled  from  the  temple. 

The  same  night  this  man  was  again  seen  by  some  shep- 
herds, whom  curiosity  led  to  visit  the  desecrated  building, 
weeping  bitterly  in  its  ruined  and  deserted  porticoes.  As 
they  approached  to  address  him,  he  raised  his  head,  and 
with  a  supplicating  action  signed  to  them  to  leave  the  place. 
For  the  few  moments  during  which  he  confionted  them  the 
moonlight  shone  full  upon  his  countenance,  and  the  shep- 
herds, who  had  in  former  days  attended  the  ceremonies  of 
the  temple,  saw  with  astonishment  that  the  solitary  mourn- 
er whose  meditations  they  had  disturbed  was  no  other  than 
Ulpius,  the  priest. 

At  the  dawn  of  day  these  shepherds  had  again  occasion 
to  pass  the  walls  of  the  pillaged  temple.  Throughout  the 
hours  of  the  night  the  remembrance  of  the  scene  of  un- 
solaced,  unpartaken  grief  that  they  had  beheld — of  the  aw- 
ful loneliness  of  misery  in  which  they  had  seen  the  heart- 
broken and  forsaken  man,  whose  lightest  words  they  had 

6* 


106  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  romb. 

once  delighted  to  revere — inspired  them  with  a  feeling  of 
pity  for  tlie  deserted  Pagan,  widely  at  variance  with  the 
spirit  of  persecution  which  the  spurious  Christianity  of  their 
day  would  fain  have  instilled  in  the  bosoms  of  its  humblest 
votaries.  Bent  on  consolation,  anxious  to  afford  help,  these 
men,  like  the  Samaritan  of  old,  went  up  at  their  own  peiil  to 
succor  a  brother  in  affliction.  They  searched  every  portion 
of  the  empty  building,  but  the  object  of  their  sympathy  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  They  called,  but  heard  no  answering 
sound,  save  the  dirging  of  the  winds  of  early  morning 
through  the  ruined  halls,  which  but  a  short  time  since  had 
resounded  with  the  eloquence  of  the  once  illustrious  priest. 
Except  a  few  night-birds,  already  sheltered  by  the  deserted 
edifice,  not  a  living  being  moved  in  what  was  once  the  Tem- 
ple of  the  Eastern  world.     Ulpius  was  gone. 

These  events  took  place  in  the  year  389.  In  390,  Pagan 
ceremonies  were  made  treason  by  the  laws  throughout  the 
whole  Roman  crppire. 

From  that  period,  the  scattered  few  who  still  adhered  to 
the  ancient  faith  became  divided  into  three  parties,  each 
alike  insignificant,  whether  considered  as  openly  or  secretly 
inimical  to  the  new  religion  of  the  state  at  large. 

The  first  party  unsuccessfully  endeavored  to  elude  the 
laws  prohibitory  of  sacrifices  and  divinations,  by  concealing 
their  religious  ceremonies  under  the  form  of  convivial  meet- 
ings. 

The  second  preserved  their  ancient  respect  for  the  theory 
of  Paganism,  but  abandoned  all  hope  and  intention  of  ever 
again  accomplishing  its  practice.  By  such  timely  conces- 
sions, many  were  enabled  to  preserve  —  and  some  even  to 
attain — high  and  lucrative  employments  as  officers  of  the 
state. 

The  third  retired  to  their  homes,  the  voluntary  exiles  of 
every  religion ;  resigning  the  practice  of  their  old  worship 
as  a  necessity,  and  shunning  the  communion  of  Christians  as 
a  matter  of  choice. 

Such  were  the  unimportant  divisions  into  which  the  last 
remnants  of  the  once  powerful  Pagan  community  now  sub- 
sided ;  but  to  none  of  them  w^as  the  ruined  and  degraded 
Ulpius  ever  attached. 

For  five  weary  years— dating  from  the  epoch  of  the  pro- 


ANTOXINA;    or,  the    fall   of   ROME.  lOY 

hibition  of  Paganism  —  he  wandered  throngh  the  empire, 
visiting  in  every  country  the  ruined  shrines  of  his  deserted 
worship — a  friendless,  hopeless,  solitary  man. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  Europe,  and  all  of  Asia  and  the 
East  that  still  belonged  to  Rome,  he  bent  his  slow  and  toil- 
some course.  In  the  fertile  valleys  of  Gaul,  over  the  burn- 
ing sands  of  Africa,  through  the  sun-bright  cities  of  Spain, 
he  traveled — unfriended  as  a  man  under  a  curse,  lonel}-  as  a 
second  Cain.  Never  for  an  instant  did  the  remembrance  of 
his  ruined  projects  desert  his  memory,  or  his  mad  determi- 
nation to  revive  his  worship  abandon  his  mind.  At  every 
relic  of  Paganism,  howevei'  slight,  that  he  encountered  on 
his  way,  he  found  a  nourishment  for  his  fierce  anguish,  an 
employment  for  his  vengeful  thoughts.  Often,  in  the  little 
villages,  children  were  frightened  fiom  their  sports  in  a  de- 
serted temple,  by  the  apparition  of  his  gaunt,  rigid  figure 
among  the  tottering  pilhars,  or  the  sound  of  his  hollow  voice 
as  he  muttered  to  himself  among  the  ruins  of  the  Pagan 
tombs.  Often  in  crowded  cities,  groups  of  men  congre- 
gated to  talk  over  their  remembrances  of  the  fall  of  Pagan- 
ism, found  him  listening  at  their  sides,  and  comforting  them 
when  they  carelessly  regretted  their  ancient  faith,  with  a 
smiling  and  whispered  assurance  that  a  time  of  restitution 
would  yet  come.  By  all  opinions  and  in  all  places  he  was 
regarded  as  a  harmless  madman,  whose  strange  delusions 
and  predilections  were  not  to  be  combated,  but  to  be  in- 
dulged. Thus  he  wandered  through  the  Christian  world, 
regardless  alike  of  lapse  of  time  and  change  of  climate; 
living  within  himself;  mourning,  as  a  luxury,  over  the  fall 
of  his  worship ;  patient  of  wrongs,  insults,  and  disappoint- 
ments ;  watching  for  the  opportunity  that  he  still  persisted 
in  believing  was  yet  to  arrive;  holding  by  his  fatal  deter- 
mination with  all  the  recklessness  of  ambition  and  all  the 
perseverance  of  revenge. 

The  five  years  passed  away  unheeded,  uncalculated,  un- 
regretted  by  Ulpius.  For  him,  living  but  in  the  past,  hop- 
ing but  for  the  future,  space  held  no  obstacles — time  was  an 
oblivion.  Years  pass  as  days,  hours  as  moments,  when  the 
varying  emotions  which  mark  their  existence  on  the  mem- 
ory, and  distinguish  their  succession  on  the  dial  of  the  heart, 
exist  no  longer  either  for  happiness  or  woe.     Dead  to  all 


108         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

freshness  of  feeling,  the  mind  of  Ulpius,  dining  the  whole 
term  of  his  wanderings,  lay  numbed  beneath  the  one  idea 
that  possessed  it.  It  was  only  at  the  expiration  of  those 
unheeded  years,  when  the  chances  of  travel  turned  his  foot- 
steps toward  Alexandiia,  that  his  faculties  burst  from  the 
long  bondage  which  had  oppressed  them.  Then,  when  he 
passed  through  those  gates  which  he  had  entered  in  former 
years  a  proud,  ambitious  boy — when  he  walked  ungreeted 
through  the  ruined  temple  where  he  had  once  lived  illus- 
trious and  revered,  his  dull,  cold  thoughts  arose  strong 
and  vital  within  him.  The  spectacle  of  the  scene  of  his  for- 
mer glories,  which  might  have  awakened  despair  in  others, 
aroused  the  dormant  passions,  emancipated  the  stifled  ener- 
gies in  him.  The  projects  of  vengeance  and  the  visions  of 
restoration  which  he  had  brooded  over  for  five  long  years, 
now  rose  before  him,  as  realized  already  under  the  vivid  in- 
fluence of  the  desecrated  scenes  around.  As  he  stood  be- 
neath the  shattered  porticoes  of  the  saci'ed  place,  not  a  stone 
crumbling  at  his  feet  but  rebuked  him  for  his  past  inaction, 
and  strengthened  him  for  daring,  for  conspiracy,  fo  rrevenge 
in  the  service  of  the  outraged  gods.  The  ruined  temples  he 
had  visited  in  his  gloomy  pilgrimages  now  became  revived 
by  his  fancy,  as  one  by  one  they  rose  on  his  toiling  mem- 
ory. Broken  pillars  soared  from  the  ground ;  desecrated 
idols  re-occupied  their  vacant  pedestals ;  and  he,  the  exile 
and  the  mourner,  stood  forth  once  again  —  the  ruler,  the 
teacher,  and  the  priest.  The  time  of  restitution  was  come : 
though  his  understanding  supplied  him  with  no  distinct  proj- 
ects, his  heart  urged  him  to  rush  blindly  on  the  execution 
of  his  reform.  The  moment  had  arrived — Macrinus  should 
yet  be  avenged  ;  the  temple  should  at  last  be  restored. 

He  descended  into  the  city:  he  hurried  —  neither  wel- 
comed nor  recognized — through  the  crowded  streets;  he  en- 
tered the  house  of  a  man  who  had  once  been  his  friend  and 
colleague  in  the  days  that  were  past,  and  poured  forth  to 
him  his  wnld  determinations  and  disjointed  plans,  entreating 
his  assistance,  and  promising  him  a  glorious  success.  But 
his  old  companion  had  become,  by  a  timely  conversion  to 
Christianity,  a  man  of  property  and  reputation  in  Alexan- 
dria; and  he  turned  from  the  friendless  enthusiast  with  in- 
dignation and  contempt.     Repulsed,  but  not  disheartened, 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  109 

Ulpius  sought  others  whom  he  liad  known  in  his  prosperity 
and  renow  11.  They  had  all  renounced  their  ancient  worship 
— they  all  received  him  with  studied  coldness  or  careless 
disdain ;  but  he  still  persisted  in  his  useless  efforts.  He 
blinded  his  eyes  to  their  contemptuous  looks ;  he  shut  his 
ears  to  their  derisive  words.  Persevering  in  his  self-delu- 
sion, he  appointed  them  messengers  to  their  brethren  in  oth- 
er countries;  captains  of  the  conspiracy  that  was  to  com- 
mence in  Alexandria;  orators  before  the  people  when  the 
memorable  revolution  had  once  begun.  It  was  in  vain  that 
they  refused  all  participation  in  his  designs :  he  left  them  as 
the  exp'-essions  of  refusal  rose  to  their  lips,  and  hurried  else- 
where, as  industrious  in  his  efforts,  as  devoted  to  his  unwel- 
come mission,  as  if  half  the  population  of  the  city  had  vow- 
ed themselves  joyfully  to  aid  him  in  his  frantic  attempt. 

Thus,  during  the  whole  day,  he  continued  his  labor  of 
useless  persuasion  among  those  in  the  city  who  had  once 
been  his  friends.  When  the  evening  came,  he  repaired, 
weary  but  not  despondent,  to  the  earthly  paradise  that  he 
was  determined  to  regain  —  to  the  temple  where  he  had 
once  taught,  and  where  he  still  imagined  that  he  was  again 
destined  to  preside.  Here  he  proceeded,  ignorant  of  the 
new  laws,  careless  of  discovery  and  danger,  to  ascertain  by 
divination,  as  in  the  days  of  old,  whether  failure  or  success 
awaited  him  ultimately  in  his  great  design. 

Meanwhile  the  friends  whose  assistance  Ulpius  had  deter- 
mined to  extort  were  far  from  remaining  inactive  on  their 
parts  after  the  departure  of  the  aspiring  priest.  They  re- 
membered with  terror  that  the  laws  affected  as  severely 
those  concealing  their  knowledge  of  a  Pagan  intrigue  as 
those  actually  engaged  in  directing  a  Pagan  conspiracy ; 
and  their  anxiety  for  their  personal  safety,  overcoming  ev- 
ery consideration  of  the  dues  of  honor  or  the  claims  of  an- 
cient friendship,  they  repaired  in  a  body  to  the  prefect  of 
the  city,  and  informed  him,  with  all  the  eagerness  of  appre- 
hension, of  the  presence  of  Ulpius  in  Alexandria,  and  of  the 
culpability  of  the  schemes  that  he  had  proposed. 

A  search  after  the  devoted  Pagan  was  immediately  com- 
menced. He  was  found  the  same  night  before  a  ruined  al- 
tar, brooding  over  the  entrails  of  an  animal  that  he  had  just 
sacrificed.     Further  proof  of  his  guilt  could  not  be  required. 


110  antoxixa;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

He  was  taken  prisoner;  led  forth  the  next  morning  to  be 
judged,  amidst  the  execrations  of  the  very  people  who  had 
almost  adored  him  once;  and  condemned  the  following  day 
to  suftei"  the  penalty  of  death. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  populace  assembled  to  behold 
the  execution.  To  their  indignation  and  disappointment, 
however,  when  the  officers  of  the  city  appeared  before  the 
prison,  it  was  only  to  inform  the  spectators  that  the  per- 
formance of  the  fatal  ceremony  had  been  adjourned.  After 
a  mysterious  delay  of  some  weeks,  they  were  again  con- 
vened, not  to  witness  the  execution,  but  to  receive  the  ex- 
traordinary announcement  that  the  culprit's  life  had  been 
spared,  and  that  his  amended  sentence  now  condemned  him 
to  labor  as  a  slave  for  life  in  the  copper-mines  of  Spain, 

What  powerful  influence  induced  the  prefect  to  risk  the 
odium  of  reprieving  a  prisoner  whose  guilt  was  so  satis- 
factorily ascertained  as  that  of  Ulpius  never  was  disclosed. 
Some  declared  that  the  city  magistrate  was  still  at  heart  a 
Pagan,  and  that  he  consequently  shrank  from  authorizing 
the  death  of  a  man  who  had  once  been  the  most  illustrious 
among  the  professors  of  the  ancient  creed.  Others  reported 
that  Ulpius  had  secured  the  leniency  of  his  judges  by  ac- 
quainting them  with  the  position  of  one  of  those  secret  re- 
positories of  enormous  treasure  supposed  to  exist  beneath 
the  foundations  of  the  dismantled  Temple  of  Serapis.  But 
the  truth  of  either  of  these  rumors  could  never  be  satis- 
factorily proved.  Nothing  more  was  accurately  discovered 
than  that  Ulpius  was  removed  from  Alexandria  to  the  place 
of  earthly  torment  set  apart  for  him  by  the  zealous  authori- 
ties, at  the  dead  of  night ;  and  that  the  sentry  at  the  gate 
through  which  he  departed  heard  him  mutter  to  himself,  as 
he  was  hurried  onward,  that  his  divinations  had  prepared 
him  for  defeat,  but  that  the  great  day  of  Pagan  restoration 
would  yet  arrive. 

In  the  year  407,  twelve  years  after  the  events  above  nar- 
rated, Ulpius  entered  the  city  of  Rome. 

He  had  not  advanced  far,  before  the  gayety  and  con- 
fusion in  the  streets  appeared  completely  to  bewilder  him. 
He  hastened  to  the  nearest  public  garden  that  he  could  per- 
ceive, and  avoiding  the  frequented  paths,  flung  himself  down, 
apparently  fainting  with  exhaustion,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree. 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  Ill 

For  some  time  he  lay  on  the  shady  resting-place  which  he 
had  chosen,  gasping  painfully  for  breath,  his  frame  ever  and 
anon  shaken  to  its  centre  by  sudden  spasms,  and  his  lips 
quivering  with  an  agitation  which  he  vainly  endeavored  to 
suppress.  So  changed  was  his  aspect,  that  the  guards  who 
had  removed  him  from  Alexandria,  wretched  as  was  his  ap- 
pearance even  then,  would  have  found  it  impossible  to  rec- 
ognize him  now  as  the  same  man  whom  they  had  formerly 
abandoned  to  slavery  in  the  mines  of  Spain.  The  effluvia 
exhaled  from  the  copper  ore  in  which  he  had  been  buried 
for  twelve  years,  had  not  only  withered  the  flesh  upon  his 
bones,  but  had  imparted  to  its  surface  a  livid  hue,  almost 
death -like  in  its  dullness.  His  limbs,  wasted  by  age  and 
distorted  by  suffering,  bent  and  trembled  beneath  him;  and 
his  form,  once  so  majestic  in  its  noble  proportions,  was  now 
so  crooked  and  misshapen  that  whoever  beheld  him  could 
only  have  imagined  that  he  must  have  been  deformed  from 
liis  birth.  Of  the  former  man  no  characteristic  remained 
but  the  expression  of  the  stern,  mournful  eyes;  and  these, 
the  truthful  interpreters  of  the  indomitable  mind  whose 
emotions  they  seemed  created  to  express,  preserved,  unal- 
tered by  suffering  and  unimpaired  by  time,  the  same  look, 
partly  of  reflection,  partly  of  defiance,  and  partly  of  despair, 
which  had  marked  them  in  those  past  days  when  the  tem- 
ple was  destroyed  and  the  congregations  of  the  Pagans  dis- 
persed. 

But  the  repose  at  this  moment  demanded  by  his  worn-out 
body  was  even  yet  denied  to  it  by  his  untamed,  unwearied 
mind  ;  and  as  the  voice  of  his  old  delusion  spoke  within  him 
again,  the  devoted  priest  rose  from  his  solitary  resting-place, 
and  looked  forth  upon  the  great  city,  whose  new  worship  he 
was  vowed  to  overthrow. 

"  By  years  of  patient  watchfulness,"  he  whispered  to  him- 
self, "have  I  succeeded  in  escaping  successfu'lly  from  my 
dungeon  among  the  mines.  Yet  a  little  more  cunning,  a  lit- 
tle more  endurance,  a  little  more  vigilance,  and  I  shall  still 
live  to  people,  by  ray  own  exertions,  the  deserted  temples 
of  Rome." 

As  he  spoke,  he  emerged  from  the  grove  into  the  street. 
The  joyous  sunlight  —  a  stranger  to  him  for  j'ears  —  shone 
warmly  down  upon  his  foce,  as  if  to  welcome  him  to  liberty 


112  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

and  the  world.  The  sounds  of  gay  laughter  rang  in  his  ears, 
as  if  to  woo  him  back  to  the  blessed  enjoyments  and  ameni- 
ties of  life ;  but  Nature's  influence  and  man's  example  were 
now  silent  alike  to  his  lonely  heart.  Over  its  dreary  wastes 
still  reigned  the  ruthless  ambition  which  had  exiled  love 
from  his  youth  and  friendshij)  from  his  manhood,  and  which 
was  destined  to  end  its  mission  of  destruction  by  banishing 
tranquillity  from  his  age.  Scowling  fiercely  at  all  around 
and  above  him,  he  sought  the  loneliest  and  shadiest  streets. 
Solitude  had  now  become  a  necessity  to  his  heart.  The 
"grea.t  gulf"  of  his  unshared  aspirations  had  long  since 
socially  separated  him  forever  from  his  fellow -men.  He 
thought,  labored,  and  suffered  for  himself  alone. 

To  describe  the  years  of  unrewarded  labor  and  unalle- 
viated  hardship  endured  by  XJlpius  in  the  place  of  his  pun- 
ishment; to  dwell  on  the  day  that  brought  with  it — what- 
ever the  season  in  the  world  above  —  the  same  unwearying 
inheritance  of  exertion  and  fatigue;  to  chronicle  the  history 
of  night  after  night  of  broken  slumber  one  hour,  of  weary- 
ing thought  the  next,  would  be  to  produce  a  picture,  from 
the  mournful  monotony  of  which  the  attention  of  the  reader 
would  recoil  with  disgust.  It  will  be  here  sufficient  to  ob- 
serve, that  the  influence  of  the  same  infatuation  which  had 
nerved  him  to  the  defense  of  the  assaulted  temple,  and  en- 
couraged him  to  attempt  his  ill-planned  restoration  of  Pa- 
ganism, had  preserved  him  through  sufferings  under  which 
stronger  and  younger  men  would  have  sunk  forever;  had 
prompted  his  determination  to  escape  from  his  slavery;  and 
had  now  brought  him  to  Rome — old,  forsaken,  and  feeble  as 
he  was — to  risk  new  perils,  and  suffer  new  afflictions,  for  the 
cause  to  which,  body  and  soul,  he  had  ruthlessly  devoted 
himself  forever. 

Urged,  therefore,  by  his  miserable  delusion,  he  had  now 
entered  a  city  where  even  his  name  was  unknown,  faithful 
to  his  frantic  project  of  opposing  himself  as  a  helpless,  soli- 
tary man,  against  the  people  and  government  of  an  empire. 
During  his  term  of  slavery,  regardless  of  his  advanced  years, 
he  had  arranged  a  series  of  projects,  the  gradual  execution 
of  which  would  have  demanded  the  advantages  of  a  long 
and  vigorous  life.  He  no  more  desired,  as  in  his  former  at- 
tempt at  Alexandria,  to  precipitate  at  all  hazards  the  sue- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  113 

cess  of  his  designs.  He  was  now  prepared  to  watch,  wait, 
plot,  and  contrive  for  years  on  years ;  he  was  resigned  to 
be  contented  with  the  poorest  and  slowest  advancement — 
to  be  encouraged  by  the  smallest  prospect  of  ultimate  tri- 
umph. Acting  under  this  determination,  he  started  his  proj- 
ect, by  devoting  all  that  remained. of  his  enfeebled  energies 
to  cautiously  informing  himself,  by  every  means  in  his  pow- 
ei-,  of  the  private,  political,  and  religious  sentiments  of  all 
men  of  influence  in  Rome.  Wherever  there  was  a  popular 
assemblage  he  attended  it,  to  gather  the  scandalous  gossip 
of  th*e  day;  wherever  there  was  a  chance  of  overhearing  a 
private  conversation,  he  contrived  to  listen  to  it  unobserved. 
About  the  doors  of  taverns  and  the  haunts  of  discharged 
servants  he  lurked  noiseless  as  a  shadow,  attentive  alike  to 
the  careless  revelations  of  intoxication  or  the  scurrility  of 
malignant  slaves.  Day  after  day  passed  on,  and  still  saw 
him  devoted  to  his  occupation — which,  servile  as  it  was  in  it- 
self, was  to  his  eyes  ennobled  by  its  lofty  end — until  at  the 
expiration  of  some  months,  he  found  himself  in  possession 
of  a  vague  and  inaccurate  fund  of  information,  which  he 
stored  up  as  a  priceless  treasure  in  his  mind.  He  next  dis- 
covered the  name  and  abode  of  every  nobleman  in  Rome 
isuspected  even  of  the  most  careless  attachment  to  the  an- 
cient form  of  worship.  He  attended  Christian  churches, 
mastered  the  intricacies  of  diflerent  sects,  and  estimated  the 
importance  of  contending  schisms;  gaining  this  collection 
of  heterogeneous  facts  under  the  combined  disadvantages 
of  poverty,  solitude,  and  age ;  dependent  for  support  on  the 
poorest  public  charities,  and  for  shelter  on  the  meanest  pub- 
lic asylums.  Every  conclusion  that  he  drew  from  all  he 
learned  partook  of  the  sanguine  character  of  the  fatal  self- 
deception  which  had  imbittered  his  whole  life.  He  believed 
that  the  dissensions  which  he  saw  raging  in  the  Church 
would  speedily  effect  the  destruction  of  Christianity  itself; 
that  when  such  a  period  should  arrive,  the  public  mind 
would  require  but  the  guidance  of  some  superior  intellect  to 
return  to  its  old  religious  predilections ;  and  that  to  lay  ths 
foundation  for  effecting  in  such  a  manner  the  desired  revolu' 
tion,  it  was  necessary  for  him — impossible  though  it  might 
seem,  in  his  present  degraded  condition — to  gain  access  to 
the  disaffected  nobles  of  Rome,  and  discover  the  secret  of 


114  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    HOME. 

acquiring  such  an  influence  over  tlieni  as  would  enable  him 
to  infect  them  with  his  enthusiasm,  and  fire  them  with  his 
determination.  Greater  difticulties  even  than  these  had 
been  overcome  by  other  men.  Solitary  individuals  had,  ere 
this,  originated  revolutions.  The  gods  would  favor  him; 
his  own  cunning  would  protect  him.  Yet  a  little  more  pa- 
tience, a  little  more  determination,  and  he  might  still,  after 
all  his  misfortunes,  be  assured  of  success. 

It  was  about  this  period  that  he  first  heard,  while  pursu- 
ing his  investigations,  of  an  obscure  man  who  had  suddenly 
arisen  to  undertake  a  reformation  in  the  Christian  Chlirch ; 
whose  declared  aim  was  to  rescue  the  new  worship  from 
that  very  degeneracy,  on  the  fatal  progress  of  which  rested 
all  his  hopes  of  triumph.  It  was  reported  that  this  man  had 
been  for  some  time  devoted  to  his  reforming  labors,  but  that 
the  difficulties  attendant  on  the  task  that  he  had  appointed 
for  himself,  had  hitherto  prevented  him  from  attaining  all 
the  notoriety  essential  to  the  satisfactory  prosecution  of  his 
plans.  On  hearing  this  rumor,  Ulpius  immediately  joined 
the  few  who  attended  the  new  orator's  discourses,  and  then 
heard  enough  to  convince  him  that  he  listened  to  the  most 
determined  zealot  for  Christianity  in  the  city  of  Rome.  To 
gain  this  man's  confidence,  to  frustrate  every  effort  that  he 
might  make  in  his  new  vocation,  to  ruin  his  credit  with  his 
hearers,  and  to  threaten  his  personal  safety  by  betraying  his 
inmost  secrets  to  his  powerful  enemies  in  the  Church,  were 
determinations  instantly  adopted  by  the  Pagan  as  duties  de- 
manded by  the  exigencies  of  his  creed.  From  that  moment 
he  seized  every  opportunity  of  favorably  attracting  the  new 
reformer's  attention  to  himself;  and,  as  the  reader  already 
knows,  he  was  at  length  rewarded  for  his  cunning  and  per- 
severance by  being  received  into  the  household  of  the  char- 
itable and  unsuspicious  Numerian,  as  a  pious  convert  to  the 
Christianity  of  the  early  Church. 

Once  installed  under  Numerian's  roof,  the  treacherous 
Pagan  saw  in  the  Christian's  daughter  an  instrument  ad- 
mirably adapted,  in  his  unscrupulous  hands,  for  forwarding 
his  wild  project  of  obtaining  the  ear  of  a  Roman  of  power 
and  station  who  was  disaftected  to  the  established  worship. 
Among  the  patricians  of  whose  Antichristian  predilections 
report  had  informed  him,  was  Numerian's  neighbor^  Vetranio, 


A>T0X1XA;     or,  the    fall    of    ROME.  115 

the  senator.  To  such  a  man,  renowned  for  his  life  of  luxury, 
a  girl  so  beautiful  as  Anlonina  would  be  a  bribe  rich  enough 
to  enable  him  to  extort  any  promise  required,  as  a  reward 
for  betraying  her  while  under  the  protection  of  her  father's 
house.  In  addition  to  this  advantage  to  be  drawn  from  her 
ruin,  was  the  certainty  that  her  loss  would  so  affect  Nume- 
rian,  as  to  render  him,  for  a  time  at  least,  incapable  of  pursu- 
ing his  labors  in  the  cause  of  Christianity.  Fixed,  then,  in 
his  detestable  purpose,  the  ruthless  priest  patiently  awaited 
the  opportunity  of  commencing  his  machinations.  Nor  did 
he  watch  in  vain.  The  victim  innocently  fell  into  the  vei-y 
trap  that  he  had  prepared  for  her,  when  she  first  listened  to 
the  music  of  Vetranio's  lute,  and  permitted  her  treacherous 
guardian  to  become  the  friend  who  concealed  her  disobedi- 
ence from  her  father's  ear.  After  that  first  fatal  step  every 
day  brought  the  projects  of  Ulpius  nearer  to  success.  The 
long-sought  interview  with  the  senator  was  at  length  ob- 
tained, the  engagement  imperatively  demanded  on  the  one 
side,  was,  as  we  have  already  related,  carelessly  accepted  on 
the  other;  the  day  that  was  to  bring  success  to  the  schemes 
of  the  betrayer,  and  degradation  to  the  honor  of  the  betray- 
ed, was  appointed ;  and  once  more  the  cold  heart  of  the  fa- 
natic waimed  to  the  touch  of  joy.  Xo  doubts  upon  the  va- 
lidity of  his  engagement  with  Vetranio  ever  entered  his 
mind.  He  never  imagined  that  the  powerful  senator  could 
with  perfect  impunity  deny  hira  the  impracticable  assistance 
he  had  demanded  as  his  reward,  and  thrust  him  as  an  igno- 
rant madman  from  his  palace  gates.  Firmly  and  sincerely 
he  believed  that  Vetranio  was  so  satisfietl  with  his  readiness 
in  pandering  to  his  profligate  designs,  and  so  dazzled  by  the 
prospect  of  the  glory  which  would  attend  success  in  the 
great  enterprise,  that  he  would  gladly  hold  to  the  perform- 
ance of  his  promise  whenever  it  should  be  required  of  him. 
In  the  mean  time  the  work  was  begun.  Xumerisn  was  al- 
ready, through  his  agency,  watched  by  the  spies  of  a  jealous 
and  unscrupulous  Church.  Feuds,  schisms,  treacheries,  and 
dissensions  marched  bravely  onward  through  the  Christian 
ranks.  All  things  combined  to  make  it  certain  that  the  time 
was  near  at  hand  when,  through  his  exertions  and  the  friend- 
ly senator's  help,  the  restoration  of  Paganism  might  be  as- 
Bured, 


116  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome. 

With  the  widest  diversity  of  pursuit  and  difference  of  de- 
sign, there  was  still  a  strange  and  mysterious  analogy  be- 
tween the  temporary  positions  of  Ulpius  and  Numerian. 
One  was  j)repared  to  be  a  martyr  for  the  Temple,  the  other 
to  be  a  martyr  for  the  Church.  Both  were  enthusiasts  in 
an  unwelcome  cause;  both  had  suffered  more  than  a  life's 
wonted  share  of  affliction  ;  and  both  were  old — passing  irre- 
trievably from  their  fading  present  on  earth,  to  the  eternal 
future  awaiting  them  in  the  unknown  spheres  beyond. 

But  liere,  with  their  position,  the  comparison  between 
them  ends.  The  Christian's  principle  of  action,  drawn  from 
the  Divinity  he  served,  was  love ;  the  Pagan's,  born  of  the 
superstition  that  was  destroying  him,  was  hate.  The  one  la- 
bored for  mankind  ;  the  other  for  himself  And  thus  the  as- 
pirations of  Numerian,  founded  on  the  general  good,  nourish- 
ed by  offices  of  kindness,  and  nobly  directed  to  a  generous 
end,  might  lead  him  into  indiscretion,  but  could  never  de- 
grade him  into  crime — might  trouble  the  serenity  of  his  life, 
but  could  never  deprive  him  of  the  consolation  of  hope; 
while,  on  the  contrary,  the  ambition  of  Ulpius,  originating 
in  revenge  and  directed  to  destruction,  exacted  cruelty  from 
his  heart,  and  duplicity  from  his  mind ;  and,  as  the  reward 
for  his  service,  mocked  him  alternately  throughout  his  whole 
life  with  delusion  and  despair. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    BED-CHAMBER. 


It  is  now  time  to  resume  our  chronicle  of  the  eventful 
night  which  marked  the  destruction  of  Antonina's  lute  and 
the  conspiracy  against  Antonina's  honor. 

The  gates  of  Vetranio's  palace  were  closed,  and  the  noises 
in  it  were  all  hushed  ;  the  banquet  was  over,  the  triumph  of 
the  Nightingale  Sauce  had  been  achieved,  and  the  day-break 
was  already  glimmering  in  the  eastern  sky,  when  the  sena- 
tor's favored  servant,  the  freedman  Carrio,  drew^  back  the 
shutter  of  the  porter's  lodge,  where  he  ha<l  been  dozing  since 
the  conclusion  of  the  feast,  and  looked  out  lazily  into  the 
street.     The  dull,  faint  light  of  dawn  was  now  strengthening 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome.  117 

slowly  over  the  lonely  roadway  and  on  the  walls  of  the  lofty 
houses.  Of  the  groups  of  idlers  of  the  lowest  class  who  had 
assembled  during  the  evening  in  the  street  to  snuff  the  fra- 
grant odors  which  steamed  afar  from  Yetranio's  kitchens, 
not  one  remained  ;  men,  women,  and  children  had  long  since 
departed  to  seek  slielter  wherever  they  could  find  it,  and 
to  fatten  their  lean  bodies  on  what  had  been  charitably  be- 
stowed on  them  of  the  coarser  relics  of  the  banquet.  The 
mysterious  solitude  and  tranquillity  of  day-break  in  a  great 
city  prevailed  over  all  things.  Nothing  impressed,  however, 
by  the  peculiar  and  solemn  attraction  of  the  scene  at  this 
moment,  the  freedman  apostn  phized  the  fresh  morning  air 
as  it  blew  over  liim,  in  strong  terras  of  disgust,  and  even 
ventured,  in  lower  tones,  to  rail  against  his  master's  uncom- 
fortable fancy  for  being  awakened  after  a  feast  at  the  ap- 
proach of  dawn.  Far  too  well  aware,  nevertheless,  of  the 
necessity  of  yielding  the  most  implicit  obedience  to  the 
commands  he  had  received,  to  resign  himself  any  longer  to 
the  pleasant  temptations  of  repose,  Carrio,  after  yawning, 
rubbing  his  eyes,  and  indulging  for  a  few  moments  more  in 
the  luxury  of  complaint,  set  forth  in  earnest  to  follow  the 
corridors  leading  to  the  interior  of  the  palace,  and  to  awaken 
Vetranio  without  further  delay. 

He  had  not  advanced  more  than  a  few  steps,  when  a  proc- 
lamation written  in  letters  of  gold  on  a  blue-colored  board, 
and  hung  against  the  wall  at  his  side,  attracted  his  atten- 
tion. This  public  notice,  which  delayed  his  progress  at  the 
very  outset,  and  which  was  intended  for  the  special  edifica- 
tion of  all  the  inhabitants  of  Rome,  was  thus  expressed  : 

"  On  this  day,  and  for  ten  days  following,  the  af- 
fairs OF  OUR  Patron  oblige  him  to  be  absent  from  Rome.'* 

Here  the  proclamation  ended,  without  descending  to  par- 
ticulars. It  had  been  put  forth,  in  accordance  with  the 
easy  fashion  of  the  age,  to  answer  at  once  all  applications  at 
Vetranio's  palace  during  the  senator's  absence.  Although 
the  coloring  of  the  board,  the  writing  of  the  letters,  and  the 
composition  of  the  sentence  were  the  work  of  his  own  ingenu- 
ity, the  worthy  Carrio  could  not  prevail  upon  himself  to  pass 
the  proclamation  without  contemplating  its  magnificence 
anew.     For  some  time  he  stood  resardins:  it  with  the  same 


118  antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome. 

expression  of  lofty  and  complacent  approbation  which  we 
see,  in  these  modern  days,  illuminating  the  countenance  of 
a  connoisseur  before  one  of  his  own  old  pictures,  which  he 
has  bought  as  a  great  bargain;  or  dawning  over  the  bland 
features  of  a  linen-draper,  as  he  surveys  from  the  pavement 
his  morning's  arrangement  of  the  window  of  the  shop.  All 
things,  however,  have  their  limits,  even  a  man's  approval  of 
an  effort  of  his  own  skill.  Accordingly,  after  a  prolonged 
review  of  the  proclamation,  some  faint  ideas  of  the  necessity 
of  immediately  obeying  his  master's  commands  revived  in 
the  mind  of  the  judicious  Carrio,  and  counseled  him  to  turn 
his  steps  at  once  in  the  direction  of  the  palace  sleeping- 
apartments. 

Greatly  wondering  what  new  caprice  had  induced  the 
senator  to  contemplate  leaving  Rome  at  the  dawn  of  day — 
for  Vetranio  had  divulged  to  no  one  the  object  of  his  de- 
parture— the  freed  man  cautiously  entered  his  master's  bed- 
chamber. He  drew  aside  the  ample  silken  curtains  suspend- 
ed around  and  over  the  sleeping-couch,  from  the  hands  of 
Graces  and  Cupids  sculptured  in  marble;  but  the  statues 
surrounded  an  empty  bed.  Vetranio  was  not  there.  Car- 
rio next  entered  the  bath-room  ;  the  perfumed  water  was 
steaming  in  its  long  marble  basin ;  the  soft  wrapping-cloths 
lay  ready  for  use;  the  attendant  slave  with  his  instruments 
of  ablution,  waited,  half  asleep,  in  his  accustomed  place; 
but  here  also  no  signs  of  the  master's  presence  appeared. 
Somewhat  perplexed,  the  freed  man  examined  several  other 
apartments.  He  found  guests,  dancing-girls,  parasites,  poets, 
painters — a  motley  crew — occupying  every  kind  of  dormi- 
tory, and  all  peacefully  engaged  in  sleeping  off  the  effects 
of  the  wine  they  had  drunk  at  the  banquet;  but  the  great 
object  of  his  search  still  eluded  him  as  before.  At  last  it 
occurred  to  him  that  the  senator,  in  an  excess  of  convivial 
enthusiasm  and  jovial  hospitality,  might  yet  be  detaining 
some  favored  guest  at  the  table  of  the  feast. 

Pausing,  therefore,  at  some  carved  doors  which  stood  ajar 
at  one  extremity  of  a  spacious  hall,  he  pushed  them  open, 
and  hurriedly  entered  the  banqueting-room  beyond. 

A  soft,  dim,  luxurious  light  reigned  over  this  apartment, 
which  now  presented,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  discern,  an  as- 
pect of  confusion  that  was  at  once  graceful  and  picturesque. 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  119 

Of  the  various  lamps,  of  every  variety  of  pattern,  hanging 
from  the  ceiling,  but  few  remained  alight.  From  those, 
however,  which  were  still  unextinguished  there  shone  a  mild 
brightness,  admirably  adapted  to  display  the  objects  im- 
mediately around  them.  The  golden  garlands,  and  the  ala- 
baster pots  of  sweet  ointment,  which  had  been  suspended 
before  the  guests  during  the  banquet,  still  hung  from  the 
painted  ceiling.  On  the  massive  table,  composed  partly  of 
ebony  and  partly  of  silver,  yet  lay  in  the  wildest  confusion 
fragments  of  gastronomic  delicacies,  grotesque  dinner-serv- 
ices, vases  of  flowers,  musical  instruments,  and  crystal  dice; 
while  towering  over  all  rose  the  glittering  dish  which  had 
contained  the  nightingales  consumed  by  the  feasters,  with 
the  four  golden  Cupids,  which  had  spouted  over  them  that 
illustrious  invention  — the  Xightingale  Sauce.  Around  the 
couches,  of  violet  and  rose  color,  ranged  along  the  table,  the 
perfumed  and  gayly-tinted  powders  that  had  been  strewn  in 
patterns  over  the  marble  floor  were  perceptible  •  for  a  few 
yards;  but  beyond  this  point  nothing  more  w^as  plainly  dis- 
tinguishable. The  eye  roved  down  the  sides  of  the  glorious 
chamber,  catching  dim  glimpses  of  gorgeous  draperies,  crowd- 
ed statues,  and  marble  columns,  but  discerning  nothing  ac- 
curately until  it  reached  the  half-opened  windows,  and  rest- 
ed upon  the  fresh  dewy  verdure,  now  faintly  visible  in  the 
shady  garments  without.  There — waving  in  the  morning 
breezes,  charged  on  every  leaf  with  their  burden  of  pure 
and  welcome  moisture  —  rose  the  lofty  pine-trees,  basking 
in  the  recui'rence  of  the  new  day's  beautiful  and  undying 
youth,  and  rising  in  reproving  contrast  before  the  exhaust- 
ed allurements  of  luxury  and  the  perverted  creations  of  art 
which  burdened  the  tables  of  the  hall  within. 

After  a  hasty  survey  of  the  apartment,  the  freedman  ap- 
peared to  be  on  the  point  of  quitting  it  in  despair,  when  the 
noise  of  a  falling  dish,  followed  by  several  partly  suppressed 
0nd  wholly  confused  exclamations  of  aff"right,  caught  his 
ear.  He  once  more  approached  the  banqueting-table,  re- 
trimmed  a  lamp  that  hung  near  him,  and  taking  it  in  his 
hand  passed  to  the  side  of  the  room  whence  the  disturbance 
proceeded.  A  hideous  little  negro,  staring  in  ludicrous  ter- 
ror at  a  silver  oven,  half  filled  with  bread,  which  had  just 
fallen  beside  him,  was  the  first  object  he  discovered.     A  few 


120  ANtONiNA;    OR,  THE   FALL  OP   HOME, 

paces  beyond  the  negro  reposed  a  beautiful  boy,  crowned 
with  vine  leaves  and  ivy,  still  sleeping  by  the  side  of  his 
lyre;  and  farther  yet,  stretched  in  an  uneasy  slumber  on 
a  silken  couch,  lay  the  identical  object  of  the  freedman's 
search — the  illustrious  author  of  the  Nightingale  Sauce. 

Immediately  above  the  sleeping  senator  hung  liis  portrait, 
in  which  he  was  modestly  represented  as  rising  by  tiie  as- 
sistance of  Minerva  to  the  top  of  Parnassus,  the  nine  Muses 
standing  round  him  rejoicing.  At  his  feet  reposed  a  mag- 
nificent white  cat,  whose  head  rested  in  all  the  luxurious 
laziness  of  satiety  on  the  edge  of  a  golden  saucer,  half  filled 
with  dormice  stewed  in  milk.  The  most  indubitable  evi- 
dences of  the  night's  debauch  appeared  in  Vetranio's  disor- 
dered dress  and  flushed  countenance,  as  the  freedman  re- 
garded him.  For  some  minutes  the  worthy  Carrio  stood 
uncertain  whether  to  awaken  his  master  or  not,  deciding 
finally,  however,  on  obeying  the  commands  he  had  received, 
and  disturbing  the  slumbers  of  the  wearied  voluptuary  be- 
fore him.  To  effect  this  purpose,  it  was  necessary  to  call 
in  the  aid  of  the  singing-boy ;  for  by  a  refinement  of  luxury, 
Vetranio  had  forbidden  his  attendants  to  awaken  him  by 
any  other  method  than  the  agency  of  musical  sounds. 

With  some  difficulty  the  boy  was  sufficiently  aroused  to 
comprehend  the  service  that  was  required  of  him.  For  a 
short  time  the  notes  of  the  lyre  sounded  in  vain.  At  last, 
when  the  melody  took  a  louder  and  more  martial  character, 
the  sleeping  patrician  slowly  opened  his  eyes  and  stared  va- 
cantly around  him. 

"My  respected  patron,"  said  the  polite  Carrio,  in  apolo- 
getic tones,  " commanded  that  I  should  awaken  him  with 
the  dawn;  the  day-break  has  already  appeared." 

When  the  freedman  had  ceased  speaking,  Vetranio  sat  up 
on  the  couch,  called  for  a  basin  of  water,  dipped  his  fingers 
in  the  refreshing  liquid,  dried  them  abstractedly  on  the  long 
silky  curls  of  the  singing-boy  who  stood  beside  him,  gazed 
about  him  once  more,  repeated  interrogatively  the  word 
"Day-break,"  and  sunk  gently  back  upon  his  couch.  We 
are  grieved  to  confess  it — but  the  author  of  the  Xightingale 
Sauce  was  moderately  inebriated, 

A  sJiort  pause  followed,  dui'ing  which  the  freedman  and 
the  singing-boy  stared  upon  each  other  in  mutual  perplexi- 


AS'TOXINA;    or,  the    fall    of    ROME.  121 

ty.  At  length  the  one  resumed  his  address  of  apology,  and 
the  Other  his  efforts  on  the  lyre.  Once  more,  after  an  inter- 
val, the  eyes  of  Vetranio  lazily  unclosed,  and  this  time  he 
began  to  speak;  but  his  thoughts — if  thoughts  they  could 
be  called — were  as  yet  wholly  occupied  by  the  "table-talk" 
at  the  past  night's  banquet. 

"The  ancient  Egyptians  —  oh,  sprightly  and  enchanting 
Camilla — were  a  wise  nation  !"  murmured  the  senator,  drow- 
sily. "I  am  myself  descended  from  the  ancient  Egyptians; 
and,  therefore,  I  hold  in  high  veneration  that  cat  in  your 
lap,  and  all  cats  besides.  Herodotus  —  an  historian  whose 
works  I  feel  a  certain  gratification  in  publicly  mentioning 
as  good — informs  us  that  when  a  cat  died  in  the  dwelling 
of  an  ancient  Egyptian,  the  owner  shaved  his  eyebrows  as  a 
mark  of  grief,  embalmed  the  defunct  animal  in  a  conseciated 
house,  and  carried  it  to  be  interred  in  a  considerable  city  of 
Lower  Egypt,  called, 'Bubastis' — an  Egyptian  word,  which 
I  have  discovered  to  mean  The  Sepulchre  of  all  the  Cats; 
whence  it  is  scarcely  erroneous  to  infer — " 

At  this  point  the  speaker's  power  of  recollection  and  ar- 
ticulation suddenly  failed  him,  and  Carrio — who  had  listen- 
ed with  perfect  gravity  to  his  master's  oration  upon  cats — 
took  immediate  advantage  of  the  opportunity  now  afforded 
him  to  speak  again. 

"  The  equipage  which  my  patron  was  pleased  to  com- 
mand to  carry  hira  to  Aricia,"  said  he,  with  a  strong  empha- 
sis on  the  last  word,  "  now  stands  in  readiness  at  the  private 
gate  of  the  palace  gardens." 

As  he  heard  the  word  "Aricia,"  the  senator's  powers  of 
recollection  and  perception  seemed  suddenly  to  return  to 
him.  Among  that  high  order  of  drinkers  who  can  imbibe 
to  the  point  of  perfect  enjoyment,  and  stop  short  scientific- 
ally before  the  point  of  perfect  oblivion,  Vetranio  occupied 
an  exalted  rank.  The  wine  he  had  swallowed  during  the 
night  had  disordered  his  memory  and  slightly  troubled  his 
self-possession,  but  had  not  deprived  him  of  his  understand- 
ing. There  was  nothing  plebeian  even  in  his  debauchery; 
there  was  an  art  and  a  refinement  in  his  very  excesses. 

"Aricia  —  Aricia,"  he  repeated  to  himself,  "  ah,  the  villa 
that  Julia  lent  to  me  at  Ravenna  !  The  pleasures  of  the  ta- 
ble must  have  obscured  for  a  moment  the  image  of  my  beau- 

6 


122  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

tiful  pupil  of  other  da3's,  which  now  revives  before  me  again, 
as  Love  resumes  the  dominion  that  Bacchus  usurped.  My 
excellent  Carrio,"  he  continued,  speaking  to  the  freedman, 
"  you  have  done  perfectly  right  in  awakening  me  ;  delay  not 
a  moment  more  in  ordering  my  bath  to  be  prepared,  or  my 
man  -  monster  Ulpius,  the  king  of  conspirators  and  high- 
priest  of  all  that  is  mysterious,  will  wait  for  me  in  vain ! 
And  you,  Glyco,"  he  pursued,  when  Carrio  had  departed,  ad- 
dressing the  singing-boy,  "  array  yourself  for  a  journey,  and 
wait  with  my  equipage  at  the  garden  gate.  I  shall  require 
you  to  accompany  me  in  my  expedition  to  Aricia.  But  first, 
oh  gifted  and  valued  songster,  led  me  reward  you  for  the 
harmonious  symphony  that  has  just  awakened  me.  Of 
what  rank  of  my  musicians  are  you  at  present,  Glyco  ?" 

"  Of  the  fifth,"  replied  the  boy. 

"Were  you  bought,  or  born  in  my  house?"  asked  Ve- 
tranio. 

"  Neither ;  but  bequeathed  to  you  by  Geta's  testament," 
rejoined  the  gratified  Glyco. 

"I  advance  you,"  continued  Vetranio,  "to  the  privileges 
and  the  pay  of  the  first  rank  of  my  musicians;  and  I  give 
you,  as  a  proof  of  my  continued  favor,  this  ring.  In  return 
for  these  obligations,  I  desire  you  to  keep  secret  whatever 
concerns  my  approaching  expedition ;  to  employ  your  soft- 
est music  in  soothing  the  ear  of  a  young  girl  who  will  ac- 
company us — in  calming  her  terrors  if  she  is  afraid,  in  dry- 
ing her  tears  if  she  weeps ;  and  finally,  to  exercise  your 
voice  and  your  lute  incessantly,  in  uniting  the  name  'Anto- 
nina'  to  the  sweetest  harmonies  of  sound  that  your  imagina- 
tion can  suggest." 

Pronouncing  these  words  with  an  easy  and  benevolent 
smile,  and  looking  round  complacently  on  the  display  of 
luxurious  confusion  about  him,  Vetranio  retired  to  the  bath 
that  was  to  prepare  him  for  his  approaching  triumph. 

Meanwhile  a  scene  of  a  very  different  nature  was  proceed- 
ing without,  at  Numerian's  garden  gate.  Here  were  no 
singing-boys,  no  freedmen,  no  profusion  of  rich  treasures — 
here  appeared  only  the  solitary  and  deformed  figure  of  Ul- 
pius, half-hidden  among  surrounding  trees,  while  he  waited 
at  his  appointed  post.  As  time  wore  on,  and  still  Vetranio 
did  not  appear,  the  Pagan's  self-possession  began  to  desert 


AKTONlJfA;    OR,  THE    FALL   OP   ROME.  123 

him.  He  moved  restlessly  backward  and  forward  over  the 
soft  dewy  grass,  sometimes  in  low  tones  calling  upon  his 
gods  to  hasten  the  tardy  footsteps  of  the  libertine  patrician, 
who  was  to  be  made  the  instrument  of  restoring  to  the 
temple  the  worship  of  other  days  —  sometimes  cursing  the 
reckless  delay  of  the  senator,  or  exulting  in  the  treachery 
by  which  he  madly  believed  his  ambition  was  at  last  to  be 
fulfilled;  but  still,  whatever  his  words  or  thoughts,  wrought 
up  to  the  same  pitch  of  fierce,  fanatic  enthusiasm  which 
had  strengthened  him  for  th^  defense  of  his  idols  at  Alex- 
andria, and  had  nerved  him  against  the  torment  and  mis- 
ery of  years  in  his  slavery  in  the  copper  -  mines  of  Spain, 
the  precious  moments  were  speeding  irrevocably  onward. 
His  impatience  was  rapidly  changing  to  rage  and  despair, 
as  he  strained  his  eyes  for  the  last  time  in  the  direction  of 
the  palace  gardens,  and  now  at  length  discerned  a  white 
robe  among  the  distant  trees.  Vetranio  was  rapidly  ap- 
proaching him. 

Restored  by  his  bath,  no  effect  of  the  night's  festivity  but 
its  exhilaration  remained  in  the  senator's  brain.  But  for  a 
slight  uncertainty  in  his  gait,  and  an  unusual  vacancy  in  his 
smile,  the  elegant  gastronome  might  now  have  appeared  to 
the  closest  observer  guiltless  of  the  influence  of  intoxicating 
drinks.  He  advanced  radiant  with  exultation,  prepared  for 
conquest,  to  the  place  where  Ulpius  awaited  him,  and  was 
about  to  address  the  Pagan  with  that  satirical  familiarity 
so  fashionable  among  the  nobles  of  Rome  in  their  commu- 
nications with  the  people,  when  the  object  of  his  intend- 
ed pleasantries  sternly  interrupted  him,  saying,  in  tones 
more  of  command  than  of  advice,  "Be  silent!  If  you  would 
succeed  in  your  purpose,  follow  me  without  uttering  a 
word  !" 

There  was  something  so  fierce  and  determined  in  the  tones 
of  the  old  man's  voice — low,  tremulous,  and  husky  though 
they  were — as  he  uttered  those  words,  that  the  bold,  confi- 
dent senator  instinctively  held  his  peace  as  he  followed  his 
stern  guide  into  Numerian's  house.  Avoiding  the  regular 
entrance,  which  at  that  early  hour  of  the  morning  was  nec- 
essarily closed,  Ulpius  conducted  the  patrician  through  a 
small  wicket  into  the  subterranean  apartment,  or  rather  out- 
house, which  was  his  customary  though  comfortless  retreat 


124  antonina;  ok,  the  fall  of  rome. 

in  his  leisure  houi*s,  and  which  was  hardly  ever  entered  by 
the  other  members  of  the  Christian's  household. 

From  the  low,  arched,  brick  ceiling  of  tliis  place  hung  one 
earthenware  lamp,  whose  light,  small  and  tremulous,  left  all 
the  corners  of  the  apartment  in  pei-fect  obscurity.  The  thick 
buttresses  that  projected  inward  from  tlie  walls,  made  visi- 
ble by  their  prominence,  displayed  on  their  surfaces  rude 
representations  of  idols  and  temples  drawn  in  chalk  and  cov- 
ered with  strange,  mysterious  hieroglyphics.  On  a  block  of 
stone  which  served  as  a  table  lay  some  fragments  of  small 
statues,  which  Vetranio  recognized  as  having  belonged  to 
the  old  accredited  representations  of  Pagan  idols.  Over  the 
sides  of  the  table  itself  were  scrawled  in  Latin  characters 
these  two  words,  "Serapis,"  "Macrinus,"  and  about  its  base 
lay  some  pieces  of  torn,  soiled  linen,  vvliich  still  retained 
enough  of  theii"  former  character  both  in  shape,  size,  and  col- 
or, to  convince  Vetranio  that  they  had  once  served  as  the 
vestments  of  a  Pagan  priest.  Further  than  this  the  senator's 
observation  did  not  carry  him,  for  the  close,  almost  mephitic 
atmosphere  of  the  place  already  began  to  affect  him  unfa- 
vorably. He  felt  a  suffocating  sensation  in  his  throat  and  a 
dizziness  in  his  head.  The  restorative  influence  of  his  recent 
bath  declined  rapidly.  The  fumes  of  the  wine  he  had  diank 
in  the  night,  far  from  having  been,  as  he  imagined  permanent- 
ly dispersed,  again  mounted  to  his  head.  He  was  obliged  to 
lean  against  the  stone  table  to  preserve  his  equilibrium,  as 
he  faintly  desired  the  Pagan  to  shorten  their  sojourn  in  his 
miserable  retreat. 

Without  even  noticing  the  senator's  request,  Ulpius  hur- 
riedly proceeded  to  erase  the  drawings  on  the  buttresses 
and  the  inscriptions  on  the  table.  Then  collecting  the  frag- 
ments of  statues  and  the  pieces  of  linen,  he  deposited  them 
in  a  hiding-place  in  a  corner  of  the  apartment.  This  done, 
he  returned  to  tlie  stone  against  which  Vetranio  supported 
himself,  and  for  a  few  minutes  silently  regarded  the  senator 
with  a  firm,  earnest,  and  penetrating  gaze. 

A  dark  suspicion  that  he  had  betrayed  himself  into  the 
hands  of  a  villain,  who  was  then  plotting  some  atrocious 
project  connected  with  his  safety  or  honor,  began  to  rise  on 
the  senator's  bewildered  brain,  as  he  unwillingly  submitted 
to  the  penetrating  examination  of  the  Pagan's  glance.     At 


axtoxixa;   or,  the  fali<  of  home.  125 

that  moment,  however,  the  withered  lips  of  the  old  man 
slowly  parted,  and  he  began  to  speak.  Whether,  as  he  look- 
ed on  Vetranio's  disturbed  countenance,  and  marked  his  un- 
steady gait,  the  heart  of  Ulpius,  for  the  first  time  since  his 
introduction  to  the  senator,  misgave  him  when  he  thought 
of  their  monstrous  engagement ;  or  whether  the  near  ap- 
proach of  the  moment  that  was  henceforth,  as  he  wildly  im- 
agined, to  fix  Vetranio  as  his  assistant  and  ally,  so  powerful- 
ly affected  his  mind  that  it  instinctively  sought  to  vent  its 
agitation  through  the  natural  medium  of  words,  it  is  useless 
to  inquire.  Whatever  his  motives  for  speech,  the  impress- 
ive earnestness  of  his  manner  gave  evidence  of  the  depth 
and  intensity  of  his  emotions,  as  he  addressed  the  senator 
thus : 

"  I  have  submitted  to  servitude  in  a  Christian's  house,  I 
have  suftered  the  contamination  of  a  Christian's  prayers,  to 
gain  the  use  of  your  power  and  station  when  the  time  to  em- 
ploy them  should  arrive.  The  hour  has  now  come  when  my 
part  of  the  conditions  of  our  engagement  is  to  be  performed, 
the  hour  will  yet  come  when  your  part  shall  be  exacted  from 
you  in  turn !  Do  you  wonder  at  what  I  have  done  and 
what  I  will  do?  Do  you  marvel  that  a  household  drudge 
should  speak  thus  to  a  nobleman  of  Rome?  Are  you  aston- 
ished that  I  risk  so  much  as  to  venture  on  enlisting  you — by 
the  sacrifice  of  the  girl  who  now  slumbers  above — in  the 
cause,  whose  end  is  the  restoration  of  our  father's  gods,  and 
in  whose  service  I  have  suffered  and  grown  old  ?  Listen, 
and  you  shall  hear  from  what  I  am  fallen — you  shall  know 
what  I  once  was !" 

"  I  adjure  you  by  all  the  gods  and  goddesses  of  our  ancient 
worship,  let  me  hear  you  where  I  can  breathe — in  the  gar- 
den, on  the  housetop,  anywhere  but  in  this  dungeon  !"  mur- 
mured the  senator  in  entreating  accents. 

"My  birth,  my  parents,  my  education,  my  ancient  abode 
— these  I  will  not  disclose,"  interrupted  tlie  Pagan,  raising 
one  arm  authoritatively,  as  if  to  obstruct  Yetranio  from  ap- 
proaching the  door;  "  I  have  sworn  by  my  gods,  that  until 
the  day  of  restitution  these  secrets  of  my  past  life  shall  re- 
main nnrevealed  to  stranger's  ears.  Unknown  I  entered 
Rome, and  unknown  I  will  labor  in  Rome  until  the  projects 
I  have  lived  for  are  crowned  with  success  !    It  is  enough  that 


126  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

I  confess  to  you  that  with  those  sacred  images,  whose  frag- 
ments you  have  just  beheld,  I  was  once  lodged;  that  those 
sacred  vestments  whose  remains  you  discerned  at  your  feet, 
I  once  wore.  To  attain  the  glories  of  the  priesthood  there 
was  nothing  that  I  did  not  resign,  to  preserve  them  there 
was  nothing  I  did  not  perform,  to  recover  them  there  is 
nothing  that  I  will  not  attempt !  I  was  once  illustrious, 
prosperous,  beloved ;  of  my  glory,  my  happiness,  my  popu- 
larity, the  Christians  have  robbed  me ;  and  I  will  yet  live  to 
requite  it  heavily  at  their  hands  !  I  had  a  guardian  who 
loved  me  in  my  youth ;  the  Christians  murdered  him !  A 
Temple  was  under  the  rule  of  my  manhood ;  the  Christians 
destroyed  it !  The  people  of  a  whole  nation  once  listened 
to  my  voice  ;  the  Christians  have  dispersed  them  !  The  wise, 
the  great,  the  beautiful,  the  good,  were  once  devoted  to  me ; 
the  Christians  have  made  me  a  stranger  at  their  doors,  an 
outcast  of  their  affections  and  thoughts !  For  all  this  shall 
I  take  no  vengeance  ?  Shall  I  not  plot  to  rebuild  my  ruined 
temple,  and  win  back,  in  my  age,  the  honors  that  adorned 
me  in  my  youth  ?" 

"Assuredly — at  once — without  delay!"  stammered  Ve- 
tranio,  returning  the  stern  and  inquiring  gaze  of  the  Pagan 
with  a  bewildered,  uneasy  stare. 

"  To  mount  over  the  bodies  of  the  Christian  slain,"  con- 
tinued the  old  man,  his  sinister  eyes  dilating  in  anticipated 
triumph  as  he  whispered  close  at  the  senator's  ear, "  to  re- 
build the  altars  that  the  Christians  have  overthrown,  is  the 
ambition  that  has  made  light  to  me  the  sufferings  of  my  whole 
life.  I  have  battled,  and  it  has  sustained  me  in  the  midst  of 
carnage ;  I  have  wandered,  and  it  has  been  my  home  in  the 
desert ;  I  have  failed,  and  it  has  supported  me ;  I  have  been 
threatened  with  death,  and  it  has  preserved  me  from  fear;  I 
have  been  cast  into  slavery,  and  it  has  made  my  fetters  light. 
You  see  me  now,  old,  degraded,  lonely — believe  that  I  long 
neither  for  wife,  children,  tranquillity,  nor  possessions ;  that  I 
desire  no  companion  but  my  cherished  and  exalted  purpose  ! 
Remember,  then,  in  the  hour  of  performance,  the  promise 
you  have  now  made  to  aid  me  in  the  achievement  of  that 
purpose  !  Remember  that  you  are  a  Pagan  yourself!  Feast, 
laugh,  carouse  with  your  compeers,  be  still  the  airy  jester, 
the  gay  companion ;  but  never  forget  the  end  to  which  you 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  romb.  127 

are  vowed — the  destiny  of  glory  that  the  restoration  of  our 
deities  has  in  store  for  us  both  !" 

He  ceased.  Though  his  voice  while  he  spoke  never  rose 
beyond  a  hoarse,  monotonous,  half-whispering  tone,  all  the 
ferocity  of  his  abused  and  degraded  nature  was  for  the  in- 
stant thoroughly  aroused  by  his  recapitulation  of  his  wrongs. 
Had  Vetranio  at  this  moment  shown  any  symptoms  of  in- 
decision, or  spoken  any  words  of  discouragement,  he  would 
have  murdered  him  on  the  spot  where  they  stood.  Every 
feature  in  the  Pagan's  seared  and  livid  countenance  express- 
ed the  stormy  emotions  that  were  rushing  over  his  heart  as 
he  now  confronted  his  bewildered  yet  attentive  listener.  His 
firm,  menacing  position;  his  poor  and  scanty  garments;  his 
wild,  sliaggy  hair;  his  crooked,  distorted  form;  his  stern, 
solemn,  unwavering  gaze;  opposed  as  they  were  (under  the 
fitful  illumination  of  the  expiiing  lamp  and  the  advancing 
daylight)  to  the  unsteady  gait,  the  vacant  countenance,  the 
rich  robes,  the  youthful  grace  of  form  and  delicacy  of  feature 
of  the  object  of  his  steady  contemplation,  made  so  wild  and 
strange  a  contrast  between  his  patrician  ally  and  himself, 
that  they  scarcely  looked  like  beings  of  the  same  race. 
Nothing  could  be  more  immense  than  the  difference — more 
wild  than  the  incongruity  between  them.  It  was  sickness 
hand  in  hand  with  health;  pain  marshaled  face  to  face  with 
enjoyment;  darkness  ranged  in  monstrous  discordance  by 
the  very  side  of  light. 

The  next  instant — ^just  as  the  astonished  senator  was  en- 
deavoring to  frame  a  suitable  answer  to  the  solemn  adjura- 
tion that  had  been  addressed  to  him — Ulpius  seized  his  arm, 
and,  oj^ening  a  door  at  the  inner  extremity  of  the  apartment, 
led  him  up  some  stairs  that  conducted  to  the  interior  of  the 
house. 

They  passed  the  hall,  on  the  floor  of  which  still  lay  the 
fragments  of  the  broken  lute,  dimly  distinguishable  in  the 
goft  light  of  day -break;  and  ascending  another  staircase, 
paused  at  a  little  door  at  the  top,  which  Ulpius  cautiously 
opened;  and  in  a  moment  afterward  Vetranio  was  admitted 
into  Antonina's  bed-chamber. 

The  room  was  of  no  great  extent ;  its  scanty  furniture  was 
of  the  most  ordinary  description  ;  no  ornaments  glittered  on 
its  walls  ;  no  frescoes  adorned  its  ceiling  ;  and  yet  there  was 


128  antontna;  or,  the  fall  of  eome. 

a  simple  elegance  in  its  appearance,  an  unobtrusive  proprie- 
ty in  its  minutest  details,  which  made  it  at  once  interesting 
and  attractive  to  the  eye.  From  the  white  curtains  at  the 
window  to  the  vase  oi"  flowers  standing  by  the  bedside,  the 
same  natural  refinement  of  taste  appeared  in  the  ariange- 
ment  of  all  that  the  apartment  contained.  No  sound  broke 
the  deep  silence  of  the  place  save  the  low,  soft  breathing, 
occasionally  interrupted  by  a  long,  trembling  sigh,  of  its 
sleeping  occupant.  The  sole  light  in  the  room  consisted  of 
a  little  lamp  so  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  flowers  round 
the  sides  of  the  vase,  that  no  extended  or  steady  ilhunina- 
tion  was  cast  upon  any  object.  There  was  something  in  the 
decent  propriety  of  all  that  was  visible  in  the  bed-chamber, 
in  the  soft  obscurity  of  its  atmosphere,  in  the  gentle  and 
musical  sound  that  alone  interrupted  its  magical  stillness, 
impressive  enough,  it  might  have  been  imagined,  to  have 
awakened  some  hesitation  in  the  bosom  of  the  boldest  liber- 
tine, ere  he  deliberately  proceeded  to  intrude  on  the  unpro- 
tected slumbers  of  its  occupant.  No  such  feeling  of  indecis- 
ion, however,  troubled  the  thoughts  of  Vetranio  as  he  cast  a 
rapid  glance  round  the  apartment  which  he  had  ventured  so 
treacherously  to  invade.  The  fumes  of  the  wine  he  had  im- 
bibed at  the  banquet  had  been  so  thoroughly  resuscitated 
by  the  oppressive  atmosphere  of  the  subterranean  retreat  he 
had  just  quitted,  as  to  have  left  him  nothing  of  his  more  re- 
fined nature.  All  that  was  honorable  or  intellectual  in  his 
character  had  now  completely  ceded  to  all  that  was  base 
and  animal.  He  looked  round,  and  perceiving  that  Ulpiiis 
had  silently  quitted  him,  softly  closed  the  door.  Then,  ad- 
vancing to  the  bedside  with  the  utmost  caution  compatible 
with  the  involuntary  unsteadiness  of  an  intoxicated  man,  he 
took  the  lamp  from  the  vase  in  which  it  was  half  concealed, 
and  earnestly  surveyed  by  its  light  the  figure  of  the  sleep- 
ing girl. 

The  head  of  Antonina  was  thrown  back,  and  rested  rathe^r 
over  than  on  her  pillow.  Her  light  linen  dress  liad  become 
80  disordered  during  the  night  that  it  displayed  her  throat 
and  part  of  her  bosom,  in  all  the  dawning  beauties  of  their 
youthful  formation,  to  the  gaze  of  the  licentious  Roman. 
One  hand  half  supported  her  head,  and  was  almost  entirely 
hidden  in  the  locks  of  her  long  black  hair,  which  had  es- 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  129 

caped  from  the  white  cincture  intended  to  confine  it,  and 
now  streamed  over  the  pillow  in  dazzling  contrast  to  the 
light  bed-furniture  around  it.  The  other  hand  held,  tightly 
clasped  to  her  bosom,  the  precious  fragment  of  her  broken 
lute.  The  deep  repose  expressed  in  her  position  had  not 
thoroughly  communicated  itself  to  her  face.  Now  and  then 
her  slightly  parted  lips  moved  and  trembled,  and  ever  and 
anon  a  change,  so  faint  and  fugitive  that  it  was  hardly  per- 
ceptible, appeared  in  her  complexion,  breathing  on  the  soft 
olive  that  was  its  natural  hue  the  light  rosy  flush  which  the 
emotions  of  the  past  night  had  impressed  on  it  ere  she  slept. 
Her  position,  in  its  voluptuous  negligence,  seemed  the  very 
type  of  Oriental  loveliness,  while  her  face,  calm  and  sorrow- 
ful in  its  expression,  displayed  the  more  refined  and  sober 
graces  of  the  European  model.  And  thus  these  two  charac- 
teristics of  two  different  orders  of  beauty,  appearing  con- 
jointly under  one  form,  produced  a  whole  so  various  and  yet 
so  harmonious,  so  impressive  and  yet  so  attractive,  that  the 
senator,  as  he  bent  over  the  couch,  though  the  warm,  soft 
breath  of  the  young  girl  played  on  his  cheeks  and  waved  the 
tips  of  his  perfumed  locks,  could  hardly  imagine  that  the 
scene  before  him  was  more  than  a  bright,  delusive  dream. 

While  Vetranio  was  yet  absorbed  in  admiration  of  her 
charms,  Antonina's  form  slightly  moved,  as  if  agitated  by 
the  influence  of  a  passing  dream.  The  change  thus  accom- 
plished in  her  position,  broke  the  spell  that  its  former  still- 
ness and  beauty  had  unconsciously  wrought  to  restrain  the 
unhalloAved  ardor  of  the  profligate  Roman.  He  now  passed 
his  arm  round  her  warm,  slender  figure;  and  gently  raising 
her  till  her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder  as  he  sat  by  the  bed, 
imprinted  kiss  after  kiss  on  the  pui'e  lips  that  sleep  had  in- 
nocently abandoned  to  him. 

As  he  had  foreseen,  Antonina  instantly  awoke;  but  to  his 
unmeasured  astonishment  neither  started  nor  shrieked.  The 
moment  she  had  opened  her  eyes  she  had  recognized  the  per- 
son of  Vetranio ;  and  that  overwhelming  terror  which  sus- 
pends in  its  victims  the  use  of  every  faculty,  whether  of  the 
body  or  the  mind,  had  immediately  possessed  itself  of  her 
heart.  Too  innocent  to  imagine  the  real  motive  that  prompt- 
ed the  senator's  intrusion  on  her  slumbers,  where  others  of 
her  sex  would  have  foreboded  dishonor,  she  feared  death. 

6* 


130  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome. 

All  her  father's  vague  denunciations  against  the  enormities 
of  the  nobles  of  Rome  rushed  in  an  instant  over  her  mind, 
and  her  childish  imagination  pictured  Vetranio  as  armed 
with  some  terrible  and  mysterious  vengeance  to  be  wreak- 
ed on  her  for  having  avoided  all  communication  with  him  as 
soon  as  she  had  gained  possession  of  her  lute.  Prostrate  be- 
neath the  petrifying  influence  of  her  fears,  motionless  and 
powerless  before  him  as  its  prey  before  the  serpent,  she  made 
uo  effort  to  move  or  speak;  but  looked  up  steadfastly  into 
the  senator's  face,  her  large  eyes  fixed  and  dilated  in  a  gaze 
of  overpowering  terror. 

Intoxicated  though  he  was,  the  affrighted  expression  of 
the  poor  girl's  pale,  rigid  countenance  did  not  escape  Vetra- 
nio's  notice;  and  he  taxed  his  bewildered  brain  for  such 
soothing  and  re-assuring  expressions  as  would  enable  him  to 
introduce  his  profligate  proposals  with  some  chance  that 
they  would  be  listened  to  and  understood. 

"Dearest  pupil!  Most  beautiful  of  Roman  maidens,"  he 
began,  in  the  husky,  monotonous  tones  of  inebriety,  "  aban- 
don your  fears !  I  come  hither,  wafted  by  the  breath  of  love, 
to  restore  the  worship  of  the — I  would  say  to  bear  you  on 
my  bosom  to  a  villa,  the  name  of  which  has  for  the  moment 
escaped  my  remembrance.  You  can  not  have  forgotten  that 
it  was  I  who  taught  you  to  compose  the  Nightingale  Sauce 
— or,  no — let  me  rather  say  to  play  upon  the  lute.  Love, 
music,  pleasure,  all  await  you  in  the  arms  of  your  attached 
Vetranio.  Your  eloquent  silence  speaks  encouragement  to 
my  heart.     Beloved  Anto — " 

Here  the  senator  suddenly  paused,  for  the  eyes  of  the  girl, 
which  had  hitherto  been  fixed  on  him  with  the  same  expres- 
sion of  blank  dismay  that  had  characterized  them  from  the 
first,  slowly  moved  in  the  direction  of  the  door.  The  instant 
afterward  a  slight  noise  caught  Vetranio's  ear,  and  Antonina 
shuddered  so  violently  as  he  pressed  her  to  his  side,  that  he 
felt  it  through  his  whole  frame.  Slowly  and  unwillingly  he 
withdrew  his  gaze  from  the  pale  yet  lovely  countenance  on 
which  it  had  been  fixed,  and  looked  up. 

At  the  open  door,  pale,  silent,  motionless,  stood  the  master 
of  the  house. 

Incapable,  from  the  confusion  of  his  ideas,  of  any  other 
feeling  than  the  animal  instinct  of  self-defense,  Vetranio  no 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  131 

sooner  beheld  Numerian's  figure,  than  he  rose,  and,  drawing 
a  small  dagger  from  his  bosom,  attempted  to  advance  on  the 
intruder.  He  found  himself,  however,  restrained  by  Anto- 
nina,  who  had  fallen  on  her  knees  before  him,  and  grasped 
his  robe  with  a  strength' which  seemed  utterly  incompatible 
with  the  slenderness  of  her  form  and  the  feebleness  of  her 
sex  and  age. 

The  first  voice  that  broke  the  silence  which  ensued  was 
Numerian's.  He  advanced,  his  face  ghastly  with  anguish, 
his  lip  quivering  with  suppressed  emotions,  to  the  senator's 
side,  and  addressed  him  thus : 

"  Put  up  your  weapon.  I  come  but  to  ask  a  favor  at  your 
hands." 

Vetranio  mechanically  obeyed  him.  There  was  something 
in  the  stern  calmness,  frightful  at  such  a  moment,  of  the 
Christian's  manner  that  awed  him  in  spite  of  himself 

"  The  favor  I  would  petition  for,"  continued  Numerian,  in 
low,  steady,  bitter  tones,  "is  that  you  would  remove  your 
harlot  there  to  your  own  abode.  Here  are  no  singing-boys, 
no  banqueting  halls,  no  perfumed  couches.  The  retreat  of 
a  solitary  old  man  is  no  place  for  such  a  one  as  she.  I  be- 
seech you,  remove  her  to  a  more  congenial  home.  She  is  well 
fitted  for  her  trade;  her  mother  was  a  harlot  before  her!" 

He  laughed  scornfully,  and  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  the  fig- 
ure of  the  unhappy  girl  kneeling  with  outstretched  arms  at 
his  feet. 

"Father,  father!"  she  cried,  in  accents  bereft  of  their  na- 
tive softness  and  melody,  "have  you  forgotten  me?" 

"  I  know  you  not !"  he  replied,  thrusting  her  from  him. 
"Return  to  /*/s  bosom ;  you  shall  never  more  be  pressed  to 
mine.  Go  to  his  palace ;  my  house  is  yours  no  longer !  You 
are  his  harlot,  not  mij  daughter !     I  command  you — go !" 

As  he  advanced  toward  her  with  fierce  glance  and  threat- 
ening demeanor,  she  suddenly  rose  up.  Her  reason  seemed 
crushed  within  her,  as  she  looked  with  frantic  earnestness 
from  Vetranio  to  her  father,  and  then  back  again  from  her 
father  to  Vetranio.  On  one  side  she  saw  an  enemy  who  had 
ruined  her  she  knew  not  how,  and  who  threatened  her  with 
she  knew  not  what ;  on  the  other  a  parent  who  had  cast  her 
ofi".  For  one  instant  she  directed  a  final  look  on  the  room, 
that,  sad  and  lonely  though  it  was,  had  still  been  a  home  to 


1  :12  ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

htM-;  and  then  without  a  word  or  a  t^igli  she  turned,  and, 
crouching  like  a  beaten  dog,  fled  from  the  house. 

During  the  whole  of  the  scene  Yetranio  had  stood  so  fixed 
in  the  helpless  astonishment  of  intoxication  as  to  be  inca- 
pable of  moving  or  uttering  a  word.  All  that  took  place 
during  the  short  and  terrible  interview  between  fother  and 
child  utterly  perplexed  him.  He  heard  no  loud,  violent 
anger  on  one  side,  no  clamorous  petitioning  for  forgiveness 
on  the  other.  The  stern  old  man  whom  Antonina  had  call- 
ed father,  and  wlio  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  as  the  most 
austere  Christian  in  Rome,  far  from  avenging  his  intrusion  on 
Antonina's  slumber,  had  voluntarily  abandoned  his  daugh- 
ter to  his  licentious  will.  That  the  anger  or  irony  of  so 
severe  a  man  should  inspire  such  an  action  as  this,  or  that 
Numerian,  like  his  servant,  was  plotting  to  obtain  some 
strange,  mysterious  favor  from  him  by  using  Antonina  as  a 
bribe,  seemed  perfectly  impossible.  All  that  passed  before 
the  senator  was,  to  his  bewildered  imagination,  thoroughly 
incomprehensible.  P^rivolous,  thoughtless,  profligate  as  he 
might  be,  his  nature  was  not  radically  base ;  and  when  the 
scene  of  which  he  had  been  the  astounded  witness  was 
abruptly  terminated  by  the  flight  of  Antonina,  the  look  of 
frantic  misery  fixed  on  him  by  the  unfortunate  girl  at  the 
moment  of  her  departure  almost  sobered  him  for  the  instant, 
as  he  stood  before  the  now  solitary  father,  gazing  vacantly 
around  him  with  emotions  of  uncontrollable  confusion  and 
dismay. 

Meanwhile  a  third  person  was  now  approaching  to  join  the 
two  occupants  of  the  bed-chamber  abandoned  by  its  ill-fated 
mistress.  Although,  in  the  subterranean  retreat  to  which  he 
had  retired  on  leaving  Vetranio,  Ulpius  had  not  noticed  the 
silent  entrance  of  the  master  of  the  house,  he  had  heard 
through  the  open  doors  the  sound,  low  though  it  was,  of 
the  Christian's  voice.  As  he  rose,  suspecting  all  things  and 
prepared  for  every  emergency,  to  ascend  to  the  bed-cham- 
ber, he  saw,  wliile  he  mounted  the  lowest  range  of  stairs,  a 
figure  in  white  pass  rapidly  through  the  hall  and  disappear 
by  the  principal  entrance  of  the  house.  He  hesitated  for 
an  instant  and  looked  after  it,  but  the  fugitive  figure  had 
passed  so  swiftly  in  the  uncertain  light  of  early  morning 
that  he  was  unable  to  identify  it ;  and  he  determined  to  as- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  home.  "     133 

certain  the  progress  of  events,  now  that  Numerian  must 
have  discovered  a  portion  at  l^st  of  the  plot  against  liis 
daughter  and  himself,  by  ascending  immediately  to  Anto- 
nina's  apartment,  whatever  might  be  the  consequences  of 
his  intrusion  at  such  an  hour  on  her  father's  wrath. 

As  soon  as  the  Pagan  appeared  before  him,  a  sensible 
change  took  place  in  Vetranio.  The  presence  of  XJlpius  in 
the  chamber  was  a  positive  relief  to  the  senator's  perturbed 
faculties,  after  the  mysterious,  overpowering  influence  that 
the  moral  command  expressed  in  the  mere  presence  of  the 
father  and  the  master  of  the  house,  at  such  an  hour,  had  ex- 
ercised over  tliem.  Over  Ulpius  he  had  an  absolute  right — 
XJlpius  was  his  dependent;  and  he  determined,  therefore,  to 
extort  from  the  servant  whom  he  despised  an  explanation 
of  the  mysteries  in  the  conduct  of  the  master  whom  he  fear- 
ed, and  the  daughter  whom  he  began  to  doubt. 

"Where  is  Antonina?"  he  cried,  starting  as  if  from  a 
trance,  and  advancing  fiercely  toward  the  treacherous  Pa- 
gan. "  She  has  left  the  room — she  must  have  taken  refuge 
with  )^ou." 

With  a  slow  and  penetrating  gaze  Ulpius  looked  round 
the  apartment.  A  faint  agitation  was  perceptible  in  his 
livid  countenance,  but  he  uttered  not  a  word. 

The  senator's  face  became  pale  and  red  with  alternate 
emotions  of  apprehension  and  rage.  He  seized  the  Pagan 
by  the  throat,  his  eyes  sparkled,  his  blood  boiled ;  he  began 
to  suspect  even  then  that  Antonina  was  lost  to  him  forever. 

"I  ask  you  again  where  is  she?"  he  shouted  in  a  voice  of 
fury.  "  If  through  this  night's  work  she  is  lost  or  harmed, 
I  will  revenge  it  on  you.  Is  this  the  performance  of  your 
promise  ?  Do  you  think  that  I  will  direct  j'our  desired  res- 
toration of  the  gods  of  old  for  this  ?  If  evil  comes  to  An- 
tonina through  your  treachery,  sooner  than  assist  you  in 
your  secret  projects,  I  would  see  you  and  your  accursed 
deities  all  burning  together  in  the  Christians'  hell !  Where 
is  the  girl,  you  slave  ?  Villain,  where  was  your  vigilance, 
when  you  let  that  man  surprise  us  at  our  first  interview?" 

He  turned  toward  Xumerian  as  he  spoke.  Trouble  and 
emergency  gift  the  faculties  with  a  more  than  mortal  pene- 
tration. Every  word  that  he  had  uttered  had  eaten  its 
burning   way  into  the  father's  heart.     Hours  of  narrative 


134  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome. 

could  not  have  convinced  him  how  fatally  he  had  been  de- 
ceived more  thoroughly  than  the  few  hasty  expressions  he 
had  just  heard.  No  word  passed  his  lips — no  action  betray- 
ed his  misery.  He  stood  before  the  spoilers  of  his  home, 
changed  in  an  instant  from  the  courageous  enthusiast  to  the 
feeble,  helpless,  heart-broken  man. 

Tho'igh  all  the  ferocity  of  his  old  Roman  blood  had  been 
roused  in  Vetranio  as  he  threatened  Ulpius,  the  father's  look 
of  cold,  silent,  frightful  despair  froze  it  in  his  young  veins 
in  an  instant.  His  heart  was  still  the  impressible  heart  of 
youth;  and,  struck  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  with  emo- 
tions of  horror  and  remorse,  he  advanced  a  step  to  ofi*er  such 
explanation  and  atonement  as  he  best  might,  Avhen  the  voice 
of  Ulpius  suspended  his  intentions,  and  made  him  pause  to 
listen. 

"  She  passed  me  in  the  hall,"  muttered  the  Pagan,  dog- 
gedly. "  I  did  my  part  in  betraying  her  into  your  power — 
it  was  for  you  to  hinder  her  in  her  flight.  Why  did  you 
not  strike  him  to  the  earth,"  he  continued,  pointing  with  a 
mocking  smile  to  Numerian, "  when  he  surprised  you  ?  You 
are  wealthy  and  a  noble  of  Rome;  murder  would  have  been 
no  crime  in  you  !" 

"  Stand  back  !"  cried  the  senator,  thrusting  him  from  the 
position  he  had  hitherto  occupied  in  the  door-way.  "She 
may  be  recovered  even  yet !  All  Rome  shall  be  searched 
for  her!" 

The  next  instant  he  disappeared  from  the  room,  and  the 
master  and  servant  were  left  together  alone. 

The  silence  that  now  reigned  in  the  apartment  was  broken 
by  distant  sounds  of  uproar  and  confusion  in  the  streets  of 
the  city  beneath.  These  ominous  noises  had  arisen  with  the 
dawn  of  day,  but  the  different  emotions  of  the  occupants  of 
Numerian's  abode  had  so  engrossed  them,  that  the  turmoil 
in  the  outer  world  had  passed  unheeded  by  all.  No  sooner, 
however,  had  Vetranio  departed  than  it  caught  the  atten- 
tion of  Ulpius,  and  he  advanced  to  the  window.  What  he 
there  saw  and  heard  was  of  no  ordinary  importance,  for  it 
at  once  fixed  him  to  the  spot  where  he  stood  in  mute  and 
ungovernable  snrprise. 

While  Ulpius  was  occupied  at  the  window,  Nuitoerian  had 
staggered  to  the  side  of  the  bed  which  his  ill-timed  severity 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         135 

had  made  vacant,  perhaps  forever.  The  power  of  action,  the 
capacity  to  go  forth  and  seek  liis  child  himself,  was  entirely 
suspended  in  the  agony  of  her  loss,  as  the  miserable  man  fell 
on  his  knees,  and  in  the  anguish  of  his  heart  endeavored  to 
find  solace  in  prayer.  In  the  positions  they  severally  occu- 
pied the  servant  and  the  master  long  remained  —  the  be- 
trayer watching  at  the  window,  the  betrayed  mourning  at 
liis  lost  daughter's  bed — both  alike  silent,  both  alike  uncon- 
scious of  the  lapse  of  time. 

At  length,  apparently  unaware  at  first  that  he  was  not 
alone  in  the  room,  Numerian  spoke.  In  his  low,  broken, 
tremulous  accents,  none  of  his  adherents  would  have  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  the  eloquent  preacher — the  bold  chastiser 
of  the  vices  of  the  Church.  The  whole  nature  of  the  man — 
moi*al,  intellectual,  physical — seemed  fatally  and  completely 
changed. 

"She  was  innocent,  she  was  innocent!"  he  whispered  to 
himself  "And  even  had  she  been  guilty,  was  it  for  me  to 
drive  her  from  my  doors?  My  part,  like  my  Redeemer's, 
was  to  teach  repentance,  and  to  show  mercy.  Accursed  be 
^the  pride  and  anger  that  drove  justice  and  patience  from  my 
heart,  when  I  beheld  her,  as  I  thought,  submitting  herself 
without  a  struggle  or  a  cry,  to  my  dishonor,  and  hers! 
Could  I  not  have  imagined  her  terror,  could  I  not  have  re- 
membered her  purity?  Alas,  my  beloved,  if  I  myself  have 
been  the  dupe  of  the  wicked,  what  marvel  is  it  that  you 
should  have  been  betrayed  as  well?  And  I  have  driven 
you  from  me,  you,  from  whose  mouth  no  word  of  anger  ever 
dropped  !  I  have  thrust  you  from  my  bosom,  you,  who 
were  the  adornment  of  my  age  !  My  death  approaches,  and 
you  will  not  be  by  to  pardon  my  heavy  offense,  to  close  my 
weary  eyes,  to  mourn  by  my  solitary  tomb  !  God — oh  God  ! 
if  I  am  left  thus  lonely  on  the  earth,  thou  hast  punished  me 
beyond  what  I  can  bear !" 

He  paused  —  his  emotions  for  the  instant  bereft  him  of 
speech.  After  an  interval,  he  muttered  to  himself  in  a  low, 
moaning  voice,  "I  called  her  harlot!  My  pure,  innocent 
child  !     T  called  her  harlot — I  called  her  harlot !" 

In  a  paroxysm  of  despair,  he  started  up  and  looked  dis- 
tractedly ar(iiind  him.  Ulpins  still  stood  motionless  at  the 
window.     At  the  slight  of  the  ruthless  Pagan  he  trembled 


136  antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

in  every  limb.  All  those  infirmities  of  age  that  had  been 
hitherto  spared  him,  seemed  to  overwhelm  him  in  an  instant. 
He  feebly  advanced  to  his  betrayer's  side,  and  addressed 
him  thus: 

"I  have  lodged  you,  taught  you,  cared  for  you:  I  have 
never  intruded  on  your  secrets,  never  doubted  your  word; 
and  for  all  this,  you  have  repaid  me  by  plotting  against  my 
daughter  and  deceiving  me !  If  your  end  was  to  harm  me 
by  assailing  my  child's  happiness  and  honor  you  have  suc- 
ceeded !  If  you  would  banish  me  from  Rome,  if  you  would 
plunge  me  into  obscurity,  to  serve  some  mysterious  ambi- 
tion of  your  own,  you  may  dispose  of  me  as  you  will !  I 
bow  before  the  terrible  power  of  your  treachery  !  I  will  re- 
nounce whatever  you  command,  if  you  will  restore  to  me 
my  child!  I  am  helpless  and  miserable;  I  have  neither 
heart  nor  strength  to  seek  her  myself!  You,  who  know  all 
things  and  can  dare  all  dangers,  may  restore  her  to  pardon 
and  bless  me,  if  you  will  1  Remember,  whoever  you  really 
are,  that  you  were  once  helpless  and  alone,  and  that  you 
are  still  old,  like  me !  Remember  that  I  have  promised  to 
abandon  to  you  whatever  you  desire !  Remember  that  no 
woman's  voice  can  cheer  me,  no  woman's  heart  feel  for  me, 
now  that  I  am  old  and  lonely,  but  my  daughter's!  I  have 
guessed,  from  the  words  of  the  nobleman  whom  you  serve, 
what  are  the  designs  you  cherish  and  the  faith  you  profess : 
I  will  neither  betray  the  one  nor  assault  the  other !  I 
thought  that  my  labors  for  the  Church  were  more  to  me 
than  any  thing  on  earth ;  but  now  that,  through  my  fault, 
my  daughter  is  driven  from  her  father's  roof,  I  know  that 
she  is  dearer  to  me  than  the  greatest  of  my  designs :  I  must 
gain  her  pardon  ;  I  must  win  back  her  affection  befoie  I  die  ! 
You  are  powerful  and  can  recover  her !     Ulpius !  Ulpius !" 

As  he  spoke,  the  Christian  knelt  at  the  Pagan's  feet.  It 
was  terrible  to  see  the  man  of  affection  and  integrity  thus 
humbled  before  the  man  of  heartlessness  and  crime. 

Ulpius  turned  to  behold  him;  then  without  a  word  he 
raised  him  from  the  ground,  and  thrusting  him  to  the  win- 
dow, pointed  with  flashing  eyes  to  the  wide  view  without. 

The  sun  had  arisen  high  in  the  heaven  and  beamed  in  daz- 
zling brilliancy  over  Rome  and  tlie  suburbs.  .\»  vague,  fear- 
ful, mysterious  desolation  seemed  to  have  suddenly  over- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  137 

whelmed  the  whole  range  of  dwellings  beyond  the  walls. 
No  sounds  rose  from  the  gardens,  no  population  idled  in  the 
streets.  The  ramparts,  on  the  other  hand,  were  crowded  at 
every  visible  point  with  people  of  all  ranks,  and  the  distant 
squares  and  amphitheatres  of  the  city  itself  swarmed  like 
ant-hills  to  the  eye  with  the  crowds  that  struggled  within 
them.  Confused  cries  and  strange  wild  noises  rose  at  all 
points  from  these  masses  of  human  beings.  The  whole  of 
Rome  seemed  the  prey  of  a  vast  and  universal  revolt. 

Extraordinary  and  aftrighting  as  was  the  scene  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  beheld  it,  it  passed  unheeded  before  the  eyes 
of  the  scarce  conscious  father.  He  was  blind  to  all  sights 
but  his  daughter's  form,  deaf  to  all  sounds  but  her  voice ; 
and  he  murmured,  as  he  looked  vacantly  forth  upon  the 
wild  view  before  him,  " Where  is  my  child!  where  is  my 
child  !" 

"What  is  your  child  to  me?  What  are  the  fortunes  or 
affections  of  man  or  woman,  at  such  an  hour  as  this  ?"  cried 
the  Pagan,  as  he  stood  by  Numerian,  with  features  horribly 
animated  by  the  emotions  of  fierce  delight  and  triumph  that 
were  raging  within  him  at  the  prospect  he  beheld.  "  Do- 
tard, look  from  this  window  !  Listen  to  those  voices !  The 
gods  whom  I  serve,  the  gods  whom  you  and  your  worship 
would  fain  have  destroyed,  have  risen  to  avenge  themselves 
at  last !  Behold  those  suburbs — they  are  left  desolate !  Hear 
those  cries — they  are  from  Roman  lips !  While  your  house- 
hold's puny  troubles  have  run  their  course,  this  city  of  apos- 
tates has  been  doomed  !  In  the  world's  annals  this  morning 
will  never  be  forgotten !  The  Goths  are  at  the  Gates  of 
Rome  !" 


CHAPTER  VHI. 

the  goths. 


It  was  no  false  rumor  that  had  driven  the  populace  of  the 
suburbs  to  fly  to  the  security  of  the  city  walls.  It  was  no 
ill-founded  cry  of  terror  that  struck  the  ear  of  Ulpius  as  he 
stood  at  Numerian's  window.  The  name  of  Rome  had  real- 
ly lost  its  pristine  terrors;  the  walls  of  Rome,  those  walls 
which  had  morally  guarded  the  empire  by  their  renown,  as 


138  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

they  had  actually  guarded  its  capital  by  their  strength,  were 
deprived  at  length  of  their  ancient  inviolability.  An  army 
of  barbarians  had  indeed  penetrated  for  conquest  and  for 
vengeance  to  the  City  of  the  World !  The  achievement 
which  the  invasions  of  six  hundred  years  had  hitherto  at- 
tempted in  vain  was  now  accomplished,  and  accomplished 
by  the  men  whose  forefathers  had  once  fled  like  hunted 
beasts  to  their  native  fastnesses,  befoi-e  the  legions  of  the 
Caesars,     "  The  Goths  were  at  the  Gates  of  Rome  !" 

And  now,  as  his  warriors  encamped  around  him,  as  he 
saw  the  arrayed  hosts  whom  his  summons  had  gathered  to- 
gether and  his  energy  led  on,  threatening  at  their  doors  the 
corrupt  senate  who  had  deceived,  and  the  boastful  populace 
who  had  despised  him,  what  emotions  stirred  within  the 
heart  of  Alaric !  As  the  words  of  martial  command  fell 
from  his  lips,  and  his  eyes  watched  the  movements  of  the 
multitudes  around  him,  what  exalted  aspirations,  what  dar- 
ing resolves  grew  and  strengthened  in  the  mind  of  the 
man  who  was  the  pioneer  of  that  mighty  revolution,  which 
swept  from  one  quarter  of  the  world  the  sway,  the  civili- 
zation, the  very  life  and  spirit  of  centuries  of  ancient  rule ! 
High  thoughts  gathered  fast  in  his  mind  ;  a  daring  ambition 
expanded  within  him^ — the  ambition,  not  of  the  barbarian 
plunderer,  but  of  the  avenger  who  had  come  to  punish;  not 
of  the  warrior  who  combated  for  combat's  sake,  but  of  the 
hero  who  was  vowed  to  conquer  and  to  sway.  From  the 
far -distant  days  when  Odin  was  driven  from  his  territo- 
ries by  the  Romans,  to  the  night  polluted  by  the  massacre 
of  the  hostages  in  Aquileia,  the  hour  of  just  and  terrible 
retribution  for  Gothic  wrongs  had  been  delayed  through  the 
weary  lapse  of  years,  and  the  warning  convulsion  of  bitter 
strifes,  to  approach  at  last  under  him.  He  looked  on  the 
towering  walls  before  him,  the  only  invader  since  Hannibal 
*  by  whom  they  had  been  beheld ;  and  he  felt,  as  he  look- 
ed, that  his  new  aspirations  did  not  deceive  him,  that  his 
dreams  of  dominion  were  brightening  into  proud  reality, 
that  his  destiny  was  gloriously  linked  with  the  overthrow 
of  Imperial  Rome ! 

But  even  in  the  moment  of  approaching  triumph,  the 
leader  of  the  Goths  was  still  wily  in  purpose  and  moderate 
in  action.     His  impatient  warriors  waited  but  the  word  to 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         139 

commence  the  assault,  to  pillage  the  city,  and  to  slaughter 
the  inhabitants;  but  he  withheld  it.  Scarcely  had  the  army 
halted  before  the  gates  of  Rome,  when  the  news  was  pro- 
mulgated among  their  ranks  that  Alaric,  for  purposes  of  his 
own,  had  determined  to  I'educe  the  city  by  a  blockade. 

The  numbers  of  his  forces,  increased  during  his  march  by 
the  accession  of  thirty  thousand  auxiliaries,  were  now  di- 
vided into  battalions,  varying  in  strength  according  to  the 
service  that  was  required  of  them.  These  divisions  stretch- 
ed round  the  city  walls,  and  though  occupying  separate 
posts,  and  devoted  to  separate  duties,  were  so  arranged  as 
to  be  capable  of  uniting  at  a  signal  in  any  numbers,  on  any 
given  point.  Each  body  of  men  was  commanded  by  a  tried 
and  veteran  warrior,  in  whose  fidelity  Alaric  could  place  the 
most  implicit  trust,  and  to  whom  he  committed  the  duty  of 
enforcing  the  strictest  military  discipline  that  had  ever  pre- 
vailed among  the  Gothic  ranks.  Before  each  of  the  twelve 
principal  gates  a  separate  encampment  was  raised.  Multi- 
tudes watched  the  navigation  of  the  Tiber  in  every  possible 
direction,  with  untiring  vigilance ;  and  not  one  of  the  ordi- 
nary inlets  to  Rome,  however  apparently  unimportant,  was 
overlooked.  By  these  means,  every  mode  of  communication 
between  the  belesiguered  city  and  the*  wide  and  fertile  tracts 
of  land  around  it  was  effectually  prevented.  When  it  is  re- 
membered that  this  elaborate  plan  of  blockade  was  enforced 
against  a  place  containing,  at  the  lowest  possible  computa- 
tion, twelve  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  destitute  of  mag- 
azines for  food  within  its  walls,  dependent  for  supplies  on 
its  regular  contributions  from  the  country  without,  govern- 
ed by  an  irresolute  senate,  and  defended  by  an  enervated 
army,  the  horrors  that  now  impended  over  the  besieged  Ro- 
mans are  as  easily  imagined  as  described. 

Among  the  ranks  of  the  array  that  now  surrounded  the 
doomed  city,  the  division  appointed  to  guard  the  Pincian 
Gate  will  be  found,  at  this  juncture,  most  worthy  of  the 
reader's  attention  ;  for  one  of  the  warriors  appointed  to  its 
subordinate  command  was  the  young  chieftain  Hermanric, 
who  had  been  accompanied  by  Goisvintha  through  all  the 
toils  and  dangers  of  the  march,  since  the  time  when  we  left 
him  at  the  Italian  Alps. 

The  watch  had  been  set,  the  tents  had  been  pitched,  the 


1 40         ANTONINA  ;  OE,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

defenses  had  be5n  raised  on  a  portion  of  ground  selected  to 
occupy  every  possible  approach  to  the  Pincian  Gate,  as  Her- 
manric  retired  to  await,  by  Goisvintha's  side,  whatever  far- 
ther commands  he  might  yet  be  intrusted  with  by  his  su- 
periors in  the  Gothic  camp.  The  spot  occupied  by  the  young 
warrior's  simple  tent  was  on  a  slight  eminence,  apart  from 
the  positions  chosen  by  his  comrades,  eastward  of  the  city 
gate,  and  overlooking  at  some  distance  the  deserted  gardens 
of  the  suburbs  and  the  stately  palaces  of  the  Pincian  Hill. 
Behind  his  temporary  dwelling  was  the  open  country,  re- 
duced to  a  fertile  solitude  by  the  flight  of  its  terrified  inhabit- 
ants; and  at  each  side  lay  one  unvarying  prospect  of  mili- 
tary strength  and  preparation,  stretching  out  its  animated 
confusion  of  soldiers,  tents,  and  engines  of  warfare,  as  far  as 
the  sight  could  reach.  It  was  now  evening.  The  walls  of 
Rome,  enshrouded  in  a  rising  mist,  showed  dim  and  majestic 
to  the  eyes  of  the  Goths,  The  noises  in  the  beleaguered  city 
softened  and  deepened,  seeming  to  be  mufiled  in  the  growing 
darkness  of  the  autumn  night,  and  becoming  less  and  less 
audible  as  the  vigilant  besiegers  listened  to  them  from  their 
respective  posts.  One  by  one,  lights  broke  wildly  forth  at 
irregular  distances  in  the  Gothic  camp.  Harshly  and  fit- 
fully the  shrill  call  of  the  signal  trumpets  rung  from  rank  to 
rank;  and  through  the  dim,  thick  air  rose,  in  the  intervals 
of  the  more  important  noises,  the  clash  of  heavy  hammers 
and  the  shout  of  martial  command.  Wherever  the  prepa- 
rations for  the  blockade  were  still  incomplete,  neither  the  ap- 
proach of  night  nor  the  pretext  of  weariness  were  suflored 
for  an  instant  to  hinder  their  continued  progress.  Alaric's 
indomitable  will  conquered  every  obstacle  of  nature  and 
every  deficiency  of  man.  Darkness  had  no  obscurity  that 
forced  him  to  repose,  and  lassitude  no  eloquence  that  lured 
him  to  delay. 

In  no  part  of  the  array  had  the  commands  of  the  Gothic 
king  been  so  quickly  and  intelligently  executed  as  in  that 
appointed  to  watch  the  Pincian  Gate.  The  interview  of 
Herraanric  and  Goisvintha  in  the  young  chieftain's  tent  was, 
consequently,  uninterrupted  for  a  considerable  space  of  time 
by  any  fresh  mandate  from  the  head-quarters  of  the  camp. 

In  outward  appearance,  both  the  brother  and  sister  had 
undergone  a  change  remarkable  enough  to  be  visible,  even 


AXTONIXA;    or,  the    fall    of    ROME.  141 

by  the  uncertain  light  of  the  torch  wliich  now  shone  on  them 
as  tliey  stood  together  at  the  door  of  the  tent.  The  features 
of  Goisvintha,  which  at  the  period  when  we  first  beheld 
her  on  the  shores  of  the  mountain  lake,  retained,  in  spite  of 
her  poignant  sufferings,  much  of  the  lofty  and  imposing 
beauty  that  had  been  their  natural  characteristic  in  her  hap- 
pier days,  now  preserved  not  the  slightest  traces  of  their 
former  attractions.  Its  freshness  had  withered  from  her 
complexion,  its  fullness  had  departed  from  her  form.  Her 
eyes  had  contracted  an  unvarying  sinister  expression  of  ma- 
lignant despair,  and  her  manner  had  become  sullen,  repul- 
sive, and  distrustful.  This  alteration  in  her  outward  aspect 
was  but  the  result  of  a  more  perilous  change  in  the  dis- 
position of  her  heart.  The  death  of  her  last  child  at  the 
very  moment  when  her  flight  had  successfully  directed  her 
to  the  protection  of  her  people,  had  aftected  her  more  fatally 
than  all  the  losses  she  had  previously  sustained.  The  dif- 
ficulties and  dangers  that  she  had  encountered  in  saving  her 
offspring  from  the  massacre;  the  dismal  certainty  that  the 
child  was  the  only  one  out  of  all  the  former  objects  of  her 
affection  left  to  her  to  love;  the  wild  sense  of  triumph  that 
she  experienced  in  remembering  that  in  this  single  instance 
her  solitary  efforts  had  thwarted  the  savage  treachery  of  the 
Court  of  Rome,  had  inspired  her  with  feelings  of  devotion 
toward  the  last  of  her  household  which  almost  boi-dered  on 
insanity.  And  now  that  her  beloved  charge,  her  innocent 
victim,  her  future  warrior,  had,  after  all  her  struggles  for  his 
preservation,  pined  and  died ;  now  that  she  was  childless 
indeed  ;  now  that  Roman  cruelty  had  won  its  end  in  spite 
of  all  her  patience,  all  her  courage,  all  her  endurance  ;  every 
noble  feeling  within  her  sunk,  annihilated  at  the  shock.  Her 
sorrow  took  the  fatal  form  which  iri-etrievably  destroys,  in 
women,  all  the  softer  and  better  emotions ;  it  changed  to  the 
despair  that  asks  no  sympathy,  to  the  grief  that  holds  no 
communion  with  tears. 

Less  elevated  in  intellect  and  less  susceptible  in  disposi- 
tion, the  change  to  sullenness  of  expression  and  abruptness 
of  manner  now  visible  in  Hermanric,  resulted  rather  from  his 
constant  contemplation  of  Goisvintha's  gloomy  despair  than 
from  any  actual  revolution  in  his  own  character.  Tn  truth, 
however  many  might  be  the  points  of  outward  resemblance 


142  antokina;  oft,  thb  fall  of  bomb. 

now  discernible  between  the  brother  and  sister,  the  differ- 
ence in  degree  of  their  moral  positions  implied  of  itself  the 
difference  in  degree  of  the  inward  sorrow  of  each.  What- 
ever the  trials  and  afflictions  that  might  assail  him,  Herman- 
ric  possessed  the  healthful  elasticity  of  youth  and  the  mar- 
tial occupations  of  manhood  to  support  them.  Goisviutha 
could  repose  on  neither.  With  no  employment  but  bitter 
remembrance  to  engage  her  thoughts,  with  no  kindly  aspi- 
ration, no  soothing  hope  to  fill  her  heart,  she  was  abandoned 
irrevocably  to  the  influence  of  unpartaken  sorrow  and  vin- 
dictive despair. 

Both  the  woman  and  the  warrior  stood  together  in  silence 
for  some  time.  At  length,  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
dusky,  irregular  mass  before  him,  which  was  all  that  night 
now  left  visible  of  the  ill-fated  city,  Herraanric  addressed 
Goisvintha  thus: 

'*  Have  you  no  words  of  triumph,  as  you  look  on  the  ram- 
parts that  your  people  have  fought  for  generations  to  behold 
at  their  mercy,  as  we  now  behold  them  ?  Can  a  woman  of 
the  Goths  be  silent  when  she  stands  before  the  city  of  Rome  ?" 

"I  came  hither  to  behold  Rome  pillaged,  and  Romans 
slaughtered  ;  what  is  Rome  blockaded  to  me  ?"  replied  Gois- 
vintha, fiercely.  "The  treasures  within  that  city  will  buy 
its  safety  from  our  king,  as  soon  as  the  tremblers  on  the  ram- 
parts gain  heart  enough  to  penetrate  a  Gothic  camp.  W^here 
is  the  vengeance  that  you  promised  me  among  those  distant 
palaces  ?  Do  I  behold  you  carrying  that  destruction  through 
the  dwellings  of  Rome  which  the  soldiers  of  yonder  city 
carried  through  the  dwellings  of  the  Goths  ?  Is  it  for  plun- 
der or  for  glory  that  the  army  is  here  ?  I  thought,  in  ray 
woman's  delusion,  that  it  was  for  revenge  !" 

"Dishonor  will  avenge  you — Famine  will  avenge  you — 
Pestilence  will  avenge  you  !" 

"  Tliey  will  avenge  my  nation ;  they  will  not  ayenge  me. 
I  have  seen  the  blood  of  Gothic  women  spilled  around  me — 
I  have  looked  on  my  children's  corpses  bleeding  at  my  feet! 
Will  a  famine  that  I  can  not  see,  and  a  pestilence  that  I  can 
not  watch,  give  me  vengeance  for  this  ?  Look  !  Here  is  the 
helmet-crest  of  iny  husband  and  your  brother — the  helmet- 
crest  that  was  flung  to  me  as  a  witness  that  the  Romans  had 
slain  him  1     Since  the  massacre  of  Aquileia  it  has  never  quit- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  Rome.  143 

ted  ray  bosom.  I  have  sworn  that  the  blood  which  stains 
and  darkens  it,  shall  be  washed  off  in  the  blood  of  the  peo- 
ple of  Rome.  Though  I  should  perish  under  those  accursed 
walls;  though  you  in  your  soulless  patience  should  refuse 
rae  protection  and  aid ;  I,  widowed,  weakened,  forsaken  as  I 
am,  will  hold  to  the  fulfillment  of  my  oath  !" 

As  she  ceased  she  folded  the  crest  in  her  mantle,  and  turn- 
ed abruptly  from  Hermanric  in  bitter  and  undissembled 
scorn.  All  the  attributes  of  her  sex,  in  thought,  expression, 
and  manner,  seemed  to  have  deserted  her.  The  very  tones 
she  spoke  in  were  harsh  and  unwomanly. 

Every  word  she  had  uttered,  every  action  she  had  display- 
ed, had  sunk  into  the  inmost  heart,  had  stirred  the  fiercest 
passions  of  the  young  warrior  whom  she  addressed.  The 
first  national  sentiment  discoverable  in  the  dayspring  of 
the  ages  of  Gothic  history  is  the  love  of  war;  but  the  sec- 
ond is  the  reverence  of  woman.  This  latter  feeling — espe- 
cially remarkable  among  so  fierce  and  unsusceptible  a  peo- 
ple as  the  ancient  Scandinavians — was  entirely  unconnected 
with  those  strong  attaching  ties  which  are  the  natural  con- 
sequence of  the  warm  temperaments  of  more  southern  na- 
tions ;  for  love  was  numbered  with  the  base  inferior  passions 
in  the  frigid  and  hardy  composition  of  the  warrior  of  the 
north.  It  was  the  ofi'spring  of  reasoning  and  observation, 
not  of  instinctive  sentiment  and  momentary  impulse.  In  the 
wild,  poetical  code  of  the  old  Gothic  superstition  was  one 
axiom,  closely  and  strangely  approximating  to  an  important 
theory  in  the  Christian  scheme — the  watchfulness  of  an  om- 
nipotent Creator  over  a  finite  creature.  Every  action  of  the 
body,  every  impulse  of  the  mind,  was  the  immediate  result, 
in  the  system  of  worship  among  the  Goths,  of  the  direct 
though  invisible  interference  of  the  divinities  they  adored. 
When,  therefore,  they  observed  that  women  were  more  sub- 
mitted in  body  to  the  mysterious  laws  of  nature  and  temper- 
ament, and  more  swayed  in  mind  by  the  native  and  univer- 
sal instincts  of  humanity,  than  themselves,  they  inferred  as 
an  inevitable  conclusion  that  the  female  sex  was  more  inces- 
santly regarded,  and  more  constantly  and  remarkably  influ- 
enced by  the  gods  of  their  worship,  than  the  male.  Acting 
under  this  persuasion,  they  committed  the  study  of  medi- 
cine, the  interpretation  of  dreams,  and,  in  many  instances,  the 


144  antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome. 

mysteries  of  communication  with  the  invisible  world,  to  the 
care  of  their  women.  The  gentler  sex  became  their  coun- 
selors iu  diflSculty  and  their  physicians  in  sickness — their 
companions,  rather  than  their  mistresses — the  objects  of  their 
veneration,  rather  than  the  purveyors  of  their  pleasures. 
Although  in  after  years  the  national  migrations  of  the  Goths 
changed  the  national  temperament,  although  their  ancient 
mythology  was  exchanged  for  the  worship  of  Christ,  this 
prevailing  sentiment  of  their  earliest  existence  as  a  people 
never  entirely  deserted  them,  but,  with  different  moditica- 
tions  and  in  different  forms,  maintained  much  of  its  old  su- 
premacy through  all  changes  of  manners  and  varieties  of 
customs,  descending  finally  to  their  posterity  among  the 
present  nations  of  Europe,  in  the  shape  of  that  established 
code  of  universal  courtesy  to  women  which  is  admitted  to 
be  one  great  distinguishing  mark  between  the  social  systems 
of  the  inhabitants  of  civilized  and  uncivilized  lands. 

This  powerful  and  remarkable  ascendency  of  the  woman 
over  the  man,  among  the  Goths,  could  hardly  be  more  strik- 
ingly displayed  than  in  the  instance  of  Ilermanric.  It  ap- 
peared not  only  in  the  deteriorating  effect  of  the  constant 
companionship  of  Goisvintha  on  his  naturally  manly  charac- 
ter, but  also  in  the  strong  influence  over  his  mind  of  the  last 
words  of  fury  and  disdain  that  she  had  spoken.  His  eyes 
gleamed  with  anger,  his  cheeks  flushed  with  shame,  as  he  list- 
ened to  those  passages  in  her  wrathful  remonstrance  which 
reflected  most  bitterly  on  himself.  She  had  scarcely  ceased, 
and  turned  to  retire  into  the  tent,  when  he  arrested  her 
progress,  and  replied,  in  heightened  and  accusing  tones : 

"  You  wrong  me  by  your  words !  When  I  saw  you  among 
the  Alps,  did  I  refuse  you  protection?  When  the  child 
was  wounded,  did  I  leave  him  to  suffer  unaided  ?  When  he 
died,  did  I  forsake  him  to  rot  upon  the  earth,  or  abandon  to 
his  mother  the  digging  of  his  grave?  When  we  approached 
Aquileia,  and  marched  past  Ravenna,  did  I  forget  that  the 
sword  hung  at  my  shoulder  ?  Was  it  at  my  will  that  it  re- 
mained sheathed,  or  that  I  entered  not  the  gates  of  the  Ro- 
man towns,  but  passed  by  them  in  haste  ?  Was  it  not  the 
command  of  the  king  that  withheld  me;  and  could  I,  his 
warrior,  disobey  ?  I  swear  it  to  you,  the  vengeance  that  I 
promised  I  yearn  to  perform ;  but  is  it  for  me  to  alter  the 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome,  145 

counsels  of  Alaric?  Can  I  alone  assault  the  city  which  it  is 
his  command  that  we  should  blockade?  What  would  you 
have  of  me  ?" 

"  I  would  have  you  remember,"  retorted  Goisvintha,  in- 
dignantly, "  that  Romans  slew  your  brother,  and  made  me 
childless  !  I  would  have  you  remember  that  a  public  war- 
fare of  years  on  years  is  powerless  to  stay  one  hour's  crav- 
ing of  private  vengeance  !  I  would  have  you  less  submit- 
ted to  your  general's  wisdom,  and  more  devoted  to  your 
own  wrongs!  I  would  have  you — like  me — thirst  for  the 
blood  of  the  first  inhabitant  of  yonder  den  of  traitors  who — 
whether  for  peace  or  for  war  —  passes  the  precincts  of  its 
sheltering  walls  !" 

She  paused  abruptly  for  an  answer,  but  Hermanric  utter- 
ed not  a  word.  The  courageous  heart  of  the  young  chief- 
tain recoiled  at  the  deliberate  act  of  assassination,  pressed 
upon  him  in  Goisviutha's  veiled  yet  expressive  speech.  To 
act  with  his  comrades  in  taking  the  city  by  assault,  to  out- 
do in  the  heat  of  battle  the  worst  horrors  of  the  massacre  of 
Aquileia,  would  have  been  achievements  in  harmony  with 
his  wild  disposition  and  warlike  education ;  but  to  submit 
himself  to  Goisvintha's  projects  was  a  sacrifice  that  the  very 
peculiarities  of  his  martial  character  made  repugnant  to  his 
thoughts.  Emotions  such  as  these  he  would  have  commu- 
nicated to  his  companion,  as  they  passed  through  his  mind; 
but  there  was  something  in  the  fearful  and  ominous  change 
that  had  occurred  in  her  disposition  since  he  had  met  her 
among  the  Alps — in  her  frantic,  unnatural  craving  for  blood- 
shed and  revenge,  that  gave  her  a  mj^sterious  and  powerful 
influence  over  his  thoughts,  his  words,  and  even  his  actions. 
He  hesitated  and  was  silent. 

"Have  I  not  been  patient ?"  continued  Goisvintha,  lower- 
ing her  voice  to  tones  of  earnest,  agitated  entreaty,  which 
jarred  upon  Hermanric's  ear,  as  he  thought  who  was  the 
petitioner,  and  what  would  be  the  object  of  the  petition. 
"Have  I  not  been  patient  throughout  the  weai-y  journey 
from  the  Alps?  Have  I  not  waited  for  the  hour  of  retribu- 
tion, even  before  the  defenseless  cities  that  we  passed  on  the 
march  ?  Have  I  not  at  your  instigation  governed  my  yearn- 
ing for  vengeance,  until  the  day  that  should  see  you  mount- 
ing those  walls  with  the  wariiors  of  the  Goths,  to  scourge 

7 


146  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

with  fire  and  sword  the  haughty  traitors  of  Rome?  Has 
that  day.  come  ?  Is  it  by  this  blockade  that  the  requital 
you  promised  me  over  the  corpse  of  my  murdered  child  is 
to  be  performed?  Remember  the  perils  /dared  to  preserve 
the  life  of  that  last  one  of  my  household,  and  will  you  risk 
nothing  to  avenge  his  death?  His  sepulchre  is  untended 
and  solitary.  Far  from  the  dwellings  of  his  people,  lost  in 
the  dawn  of  his  beauty,  slaughtered  in  the  beginning  of  his 
strength,  lies  the  oifspring  of  your  brother's  blood.  And  the 
rest  —  the  two  children,  who  were  yet  infants;  the  fixlher, 
who  was  brave  in  battle  and  wise  in  council  —  where  are 
they  ?  Their  bones  whiten  on  the  shelterless  plain,  or  rot 
unburied  by  the  ocean  shore?  Think  —  had  they  lived — 
how  happily  your  days  would  have  passed  with  them  in  the 
time  of  peace !  how  gladly  your  brother  would  have  gone 
forth  with  you  to  the  chase!  how  joyfully  his  boys  would 
have  nestled  at  your  knees,  to  gather  from  your  lips  the  first 
lessons  that  should  form  them  for  the  warrior's  life !  Think 
of  such  enjoyments  as  these,  and  then  think  that  Roman 
swords  have  deprived  you  of  them  all !" 

Her  voice  trembled  ;  she  ceased  tor  a  moment,  and  looked 
mournfully  up  into  Hermanric's  averted  face.  Every  fea- 
ture in  the  young  chieftain's  countenance  expressed  the  tu- 
mult that  her  words  had  aroused  within  him.  He  attempt- 
ed to  reply,  but  his  voice  was  powerless  in  that  trying  mo- 
ment. His  head  drooped  upon  his  heaving  breast,  and  he 
sighed  heavily,  as,  without  speaking,  he  grasped  Goisvintha 
by  the  hand.  The  object  she  had  pleaded  for  was  nearly 
attained — he  was  fast  sinking  beneath  the  tempter's  well- 
spread  toils ! 

"Are  you  silent  still?"  she  gloomily  resumed.  "Do  you 
wonder  at  this  longing  for  vengeance,  at  this  craving  for 
Roman  blood  ?  I  tell  you  that  my  desire  has  arisen  within 
me  at  promptings  from  the  voices  of  an  unknown  world. 
They  urge  me  to  seek  requital  on  the  nation  who  have  wid- 
owed and  bereaved  me — yonder,  in  their  vaunted  city,  from 
their  pampered  citizens,  among  their  cherished  homes  —  in 
the  spot  where  their  shameful  counsels  tJike  root,  and  whence 
their  ruthless  treacheries  derive  their  bloody  source!  In 
the  book  that  our  teachers  worship  I  have  heard  it  read, 
that  '  the  voice  of  blood  crieth  from  the  ground !'    This  is 


ANTONINA;  or,  the  fall  of  ROME.         147 

the  voice — Herman ric,  this  is  the  voice  that  I  have  heard  ! 
I  have  dreamed  that  I  walked  on  a  shoi*e  of  corpses,  by  a  sea 
of  blood  !  I  have  seen,  arising  from  that  sea,  my  husband's 
and  my  children's  bodies,  gashed  throughout  with  Roman 
wounds!  They  have  called  to  me  through  the  vapor  of  car- 
nage that  was  around  them,  *Are  we  yet  unavenged?  Is 
the  sword  of  Hermanric  yet  sheathed  ?'  Night  after  night 
have  I  seen  this  vision  and  heard  those  voices,  and  hoped 
for  no  respite  until  the  day  that  saw  the  army  encamped  be- 
neath the  walls  of  Rome,  and  raising  the  scaling-ladders  for 
the  assault !  And  now,  after  all  my  endurance,  how  has  that 
day  arrived  ?  Accursed  be  the  lust  of  treasure  !  It  is  more 
to  the  warriors,  and  to  you,  than  the  justice  of  revenge  !"   - 

"Listen  !  listen  !"  cried  Hermanric,  entreatingly. 

"  I  listen  no  longer !"  interrupted  Goisviutha.  "  The  tongue 
of  my  people  is  as  a  strange  language  in  my  ears;  for  it 
talks  but  of  plunder  and  of  peace,  of  obedience,  of  patience, 
and  of  hope !  "  I  listen  no  longer;  for  the  kindred  are  gone 
that  I  loved  to  listen  to :  they  are  all  slain  by  the  Romans 
but  you,  and  you  I  renounce !" 

Deprived  of  all  power  of  consideration  by  the  violence  of 
the  emotions  awakened  in  his  heart  by  Goisvintha's  wild 
revelations  of  the  evil  passion  that  consumed  her,  the  young 
Goth,  shuddering  throughout  his  whole  frame,  and  still 
averting  his  face,  murmured  in  hoarse,  unsteady  accents : 
"Ask  of  me  what  you  will !  I  have  no  words  to  deny,  no 
power  to  rebuke  you — ask  of  me  what  you  will !" 

"Promise  me,"  cried  Goisviutha,  seizing  the  hand  of  Her- 
manric, and  gazing  with  a  look  of  fierce  triumph  on  his  dis- 
ordered countenance,  "that  this  blockade  of  the  city  shall 
not  hinder  my  vengeance !  Promise  me  that  the  first  vic- 
tim of  our  righteous  revenge  shall  be  the  first  one  that  ap- 
pears before  you — whether  in  w^ar  or  peace — of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Rome !" 

"  I  promise,"  cried  the  Goth.  And  those  two  words  seal- 
ed the  destiny  of  his  future  life. 

During  the  silence  that  now  ensued  between  Goisviutha 
and  Hermanric,  and  while  each  stood  absorbed  in  deep  med- 
itation, the  dark  prospect  spread  around  them  began  to 
brighten  slowly  under  a  soft,  clear  light.  The  moon,  whose 
dull  broad  disk  had  risen  among  the  evening  mists  arrayed 


148  antonina;  or,  the  Fall  of  rome. 

in  gloomy  red,  had  now  topped  the  highest  of  the  exhala- 
tions of  earth,  and  beamed  in  the  wide  heaven,  adorned 
once  more  in  her  pale,  accustomed  hue.  Gradually,  yet  per- 
ceptibly, the  vapor  rolled,  layer  by  layer,  from  the  lofty 
summits  of  the  palaces  of  Rome,  and  the  high  places  of  the 
mighty  city  began  to  dawn,  as  it  were,  in  the  soft,  peaceful, 
mysterious  light;  while  the  lower  divisions  of  the  walls,  the 
desolate  suburbs,  and  parts  of  the  Gothic  camp  lay  still 
plunged  in  the  dusky  obscurity  of  the  mist,  in  grand  and 
gloomy  contrast  to  the  prospect  of  glowing  brightness,  that 
almost  appeared  to  hover  about  them  from  above  and 
around.  Patches  of  ground  behind  the  tent  of  Hermanric 
began  to  grow  partially  visible  in  raised  and  open  positions, 
and  the  song  of  the  nightingale  was  now  faintly  audible 
at  intervals  among  the  solitary  and  distant  treee.  In  what- 
ever direction  it  was  observed,  the  aspect  of  nature  gave 
promise  of  the  cloudless,  tranquil  night  of  the  autumnal  cli- 
mate of  ancient  Italy. 

Hermanric  was  the  first  to  return  to  the  contemjslation 
of  the  outward  world.  Perceiving  that  the  torch  which 
still  burned  by  the  side  of  his  tent  had  become  useless,  now 
that  the  moon  had  arisen  and  dispelled  the  mists,  he  ad- 
vanced and  extinguished  it;  pausing  afterward  to  look 
forth  over  the  plains,  as  they  brightened  slowly  before  him. 
He  had  been  thus  occupied  but  a  short  time,  when  he 
thought  he  discerned  a  human  figure  moving  slowly  over  a 
spot  of  partially  lighted  and  hilly  ground,  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  him.  It  was  impossible  that  this  wandering 
form  could  be  one  of  his  own  people ;  they  were  all  collected 
at  their  respective  posts,  and  his  tent  he  knew  was  on  the 
outermost  boundary  of  the  encampment,  before  the  Pincian 
Gate. 

He  looked  again.  The  figure  still  advanced,  but  at  too 
great  a  distance  to  allow  him  a  chance  of  discovering,  in 
the  uncertain  light  around  him,  either  its  nation,  its  sex,  or 
its  age.  His  heart  misgave  him  as  he  remembered  his 
promise  to  Goisvintha,  and  contemplated  the  possibility 
that  it  was  some  miserable  slave,  abandoned  by  the  fugi- 
tives who  had  quitted  the  suburbs  in  the  morning,  who  now 
approached,  as  a  last  resource,  to  ask  mercy  and  protection 
from  his  enemies  iu  the  camp.     He  turned  toward  Goisvin- 


ANTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  149 

tha  as  the  idea  crossed  his  mind,  and  observed  that  she  was 
still  occupied  in  meditation.  Assured  by  the  sight  that 
she  had  not  yet  observed  the  fugitive  figure,  he  again  di- 
rected his  attention  —  with  an  excess  of  anxiety  which  he 
could  hardly  account  for  —  in  the  direction  where  he  had 
first  beheld  it;  but  it  was  no  more  to  be  seen.  It  had  ei- 
ther retired  to  concealment,  or  was  now  still  advancing  to- 
ward his  tent  through  a  clump  of  trees  that  clothed  the  de- 
scent of  the  hill. 

Silently  and  patiently  he  continued  to  look  forth  over  the 
landscape ;  and  still  no  living  thing  was  to  be  seen.  At 
length,  just  as  he  began  to  doubt  whether  his  senses  had 
not  deceived  him,  the  fugitive  figure  suddenly  appeared 
from  the  trees,  hurried  with  wavering  gait  over  the  patch 
of  low,  damp  ground  that  still  separated  it  from  the  young 
Goth,  gained  his  tent,  and  then  with  a  feeble  cry  fell  help- 
lessly upon  the  earth  at  his  feet. 

That  cry,  faint  as  it  was,  attracted  Goisvintha's  atten- 
tion. She  turned  in  an  instant,  thrust  Hermanric  aside,  and 
raised  the  stranger  in  her  arms.  The  light,  slender  form, 
"the  fair  hand  and  arm  hanging  motionless  toward  the 
ground,  the  long  locks  of  deep  black  hair,  heavy  with  the 
moisture  of  the  night  atmosphere,  betrayed  the  wanderer's 
sex  and  age  in  an  instant.  The  solitary  fugitive  was  a 
young  girl. 

Signing  to  Hermanric  to  kindle  the  extinguished  torch  at 
a  neighboring  watch-fire,  Goisvintha  carried  the  still  insen- 
sible girl  into  the  tent.  As  the  Goth  silently  proceeded  to 
obey  her,  a  vague,  horrid  suspicion  that  he  shrunk  from  em- 
bodying, passed  across  his  mind.  His  hand  shook  so  that  he 
could  hardly  light  the  torch,  and  bold  and  vigorous  as  he 
was,  his  limbs  trembled  beneath  him  as  he  slowly  returned 
to  the  tent. 

^Yhen  he  had  gained  the  interior  of  his  temporary  abode, 
the  light  of  his  torch  illuminated  a  strange  and  impressive 
scene. 

Goisvintha  was  seated  on  a  rude  oaken  chest,  supporting 
on  her  knees  the  form  of  the  young  girl,  and  gazing  with  an 
expression  of  the  most  intense  and  enthralling  interest  upon 
her  pale,  wasted  countenance.  The  tattered  robe  that  had 
hitherto  enveloped  the  fugitive  had  fallen  back,  and   dis- 


150  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  romb. 

closed  the  white  dress,  which  was  the  only  other  garment 
she  wore.  Her  face,  throat,  and  arms  had  been  turned,  by 
exposure  to  the  cold,  to  the  pure  whiteness  of  marble.  Her 
eyes  were  closed,  and  her  small,  delicate  features  were  lock- 
ed in  a  rigid  repose.  But  for  her  deep  black  hair,  which 
heightened  the  ghastly  aspect  of  her  face,  she  might  have 
been  mistaken,  as  she  lay  in  the  woman's  arms,  for  an  exquis- 
itely chiseled  statue  of  youth  in  death. 

When  the  figure  of  the  young  warrior,  arrayed  in  his  mar- 
tial habiliments,  and  standing  near  the  insensible  girl  with 
evident  emotions  of  wonder  and  anxiety,  was  added  to  the 
group  thus  produced  —  when  Goisvintha's  tall,  powerful 
frame,  clothed  in  dark  garments,  and  bent  over  the  fragile 
form  and  white  dress  of  the  fugitive,  was  illuminated  by  the 
wild,  fitful  glare  of  the  torch — when  the  heightened  color, 
worn  features,  and  eager  expression  of  the  woman  were  be- 
held, here  shadowed,  there  brightened,  in  close  opposition  to 
the  pale,  youthful,  reposing  countenance  of  the  girl,  such  an 
assemblage  of  violent  lights  and  deep  shades  was  produced 
as  gave  the  whole  scene  a  character  at  once  mysterious  and 
sublime.  It  presented  an  harmonious  variety  of  solemn 
colors,  united  by  the  exquisite  artifice  of  Xature  to  a  grand 
yet  simple  disposition  of  form.  It  was  a  picture  executed 
by  the  hand  of  Rembrandt,  and  imagined  by  the  mind  of 
Raphael. 

Starting  abruptly  from  her  long,  earnest  examination  of  the 
fugitive,  Goisvintha  proceeded  to  employ  herself  in  restoring 
animation  to  her  insensible  charge.  While  thus  occupied 
she  preserved  unbroken  silence.  A  breathless  expectation, 
that  absorbed  all  her  senses  in  one  direction,  seemed  to  have 
possessed  itself  of  her  heart.  She  labored  at  her  task  with 
the  mechanical,  unwavering  energy  of  those  whose  attention 
is  occupied  by  their  thoughts  rather  than  their  actions. 
Slowly  and  unwillingly  the  first  faint  flush  of  returning  ani- 
mation dawned,  in  the  tenderest  delicacy  of  hue,  upon  the 
girl's  colorless  cheek.  Gradually  and  softly,  her  quickening 
respiration  fluttered  a  thin  lock  of  hair  that  had  fallen  over 
her  face.  A  little  interval  more,  and  then  the  closed,  peace- 
ful eyes  suddenly  opened,  and  glanced  quickly  round  the 
tent  with  a  wild  expression  of  bewilderment  and  terror. 
Then,  as  Goisvintha  rose  and  attempted  to  place  her  on  a 


AXTOXINA;     or,   the    fall    of    ROME.  151 

seat,  she  tore  herself  from  her  grasp,  looked  on  her  for  a  mo- 
ment with  fearful  intentness,  and  then,  falling  on  her  knees, 
murmured,  in  a  plaintive  voice, 

"Have  mercy  upon  me,  I  am  forsaken  by  my  father — I 
know  not  why.  The  gates  of  the  city  are  shut  against  me. 
My  habitation  in  Rome  is  closed  to  me  forever !" 

She  had  scarcely  spoken  these  few  words,  before  an  om- 
inous change  appeared  in  Goisvintha's  countenance.  Its  for- 
mer express^ion  of  ardent  curiosity  changed  to  a  look  of  ma- 
lignant triumph.  Her  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  the  girl's 
upturned  face  in  glaring,  steady,  spell-bound  contemplation. 
She  gloated  over  the  helpless  creature  before  her,  as  the  wild 
beast  gloats  over  the  prey  that  it  has  secured.  Her  form 
dilated,  a  scornful  smile  appeared  on  her  lips,  a  hot  flush  rose 
on  her  cheeks,  and  ever  and  anon  she  whispered  softly  to 
herself,  "I  knew  she  was  Roman  I  Aha!  I  knew  she  was 
Roman  !" 

During  this  space  of  time  Hermanric  was  silent.  His 
breath  came  short  and  thick,  his  face  grew  pale,  and  his 
glance,  after  resting  for  an  instant  on  the  woman  and  the 
girl,  traveled  slowly  and  anxiously  round  the  tent.  In  one 
corner  of  it  lay  a  heavy  battle-axe.  He  looked  for  a  moment 
from  the  weapon  to  Goisvintha  with  a  vivid  expression  of 
horror,  and  then  moving  slowly  across  the  tent,  with  a  firm 
yet  trembling  grasp  he  possessed  himself  of  the  arm. 

As  he  looked  up,  Goisvintha  approached  him.  In  one 
hand  she  held  the  bloody  lielmct-crest,  while  she  pointed 
with  the  other  to  the  crouching  figure  of  the  girl.  Her  lips 
were  still  parted  with  their  unnatural  smile,  and  she  whis- 
pered softly  to  the  Goth,  "  Remember  your  promise !  re- 
member your  kindred !  remember  the  massacre  of  Aqui- 
leia !" 

The  young  warrior  made  no  answer.'  He  moved  rapidly 
forward  a  few  steps,  and  signed  hurriedly  to  the  young  gii-1 
to  fly  by  the  door;  but  her  terror  had  by  this  time  divested 
her  of  all  her  ordinary  powers  of  perception  and  comprehen- 
sion. She  looked  up  vacantly  at  Hermanric,  and  then,  shud- 
dering violently,  crept  into  a  corner  of  the  tent.  During 
the  short  silence  that  now  ensued  the  Goth  could  hear  her 
shiver  and  sigh,  as  he  stood  watching,  with  all  the  anxiety 
of  apprehension,  Goisvintha's  darkening  brow. 


152         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME, 

"She  is  Roman — she  is  the  first  dweller  in  the  city  who 
has  appeared  before  you !  Remember  your  promise !  re- 
member your  kindred  !  remember  the  massacre  of  Aqui- 
leia  !"  said  the  woman,  in  fierce,  quick,  concentrated  tones. 

"I  remember  that  I  am  a  warrior  and  a  Goth,"  replied 
Hermanric,  disdainfully.  "I  have  promised  to  avenge  you, 
but  it  must  be  on  a  man  that  my  promise  must  be  fulfilled — 
an  armed  man,  who  can  come  forth  with  weapons  in  his 
hand — a  strong  man  of  courage  whom  I  will  slay  in  single 
combat  before  your  eyes  !  The  girl  is  too  young  to  die,  too 
weak  to  be  assailed  !" 

Not  a  syllable  that  he  had  spoken  had  passed  unheeded 
by  the  fugitive  ;  every  word  seemed  to  revive  her  torpid  fac- 
ulties. As  he  ceased  she  arose,  and,  with  the  quick  instinct 
of  terror,  ran  up  to  the  side  of  the  young  Goth.  Then,  seiz- 
ing his  hand — the  hand  that  still  grasped  the  battle-axe — 
she  knelt  down  and  kissed  it,  uttering  hurried,  broken  ejacu- 
lations, as  she  clasped  it  to  her  bosom,  which  the  tremulous- 
ness  of  her  voice  rendered  completely  unintelligible. 

"Did  the  Romans  think  my  children  too  young  to  die,  or 
too  weak  to  be  assailed  ?"  cried  Goisvintha.  "  By  the  Lord 
God  of  Heaven,  they  murdered  them  the  more  willingly  be- 
cause they  were  young,  and  wounded  them  the  more  fierce- 
1}'  because  they  were  weak !  My  heart  leaps  within  me  as 
I  look  on  the  girl !  I  am  doubly  avenged,  if  I  am  avenged 
on  the  innocent  and  the  youthful !  Her  bones  shall  rot  on 
the  plains  of  Rome,  as  the  bones  of  my  offsj>ring  rot  on  the 
plains  of  Aquileia  !  Shed  me  her  blood  !  Remember  your 
promise !     Shed  me  her  blood  !" 

She  advanced  with  extended  arms  and  gleaming  eyes  to- 
ward the  fugitive.  She  gasped  for  breath,  her  face  turned 
suddenly  to  a  livid  paleness,  the  torch-light  fell  upon  her  dis- 
torted features,  she  looked  unearthly  at  that  fearful  mo- 
ment; but  the  divinity  of  mercy  had  now  braced  the  deter- 
mination of  the  young  Goth  to  meet  all  emergencies.  His 
bright,  steady  eye  quailed  not  for  an  instant,  as  he  encount- 
ered the  frantic  glance  of  the  fury  before  him.  With  one 
hand  he  barred  Goisvintha  from  advancing  another  step; 
tlie  other  he  could  not  disengage  from  the  girl,  who  now 
clasped  and  kissed  it  more  eagerly  than  before. 

"  You  do  this  but  to  tempt  me  to  anger,"  said  Goisvintha, 


ANTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         153 

altering  her  manner  with  sudden  and  palpable  cunning, 
more  ominous  of  peril  to  the  fugitive  tlian  the  fury  she  had 
hitherto  displayed.  "You  jest  at  me,  because  I  have  failed 
in  patience,  like  a  child  !  But  you  will  shed  her  blood — you 
are  honorable  and  will  hold  to  your  promise — you  will  shed 
her  blood  !  And  I,"  she  continued,  exultingly,  seating  her- 
self on  the  oaken  chest  that  she  had  previously  occupied, 
and  resting  her  clenched  hands  on  her  knees, "I  will  wait  to 
see  it !" 

At  this  moment  voices  and  steps  were  heard  outside  the 
tent.  Hermanric  instantly  raised  the  trembling  girl  from 
the  ground,  and,  supporting  her  by  his  arm,  advanced  to  as- 
certain the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  He  was  confronted 
the  next  instant  by  an  old  warrior  of  superior  rank,  attached 
to  the  person  of  Alaric,  who  was  followed  by  a  small  party 
of  the  ordinary  soldiery  of  the  camp. 

"Among  the  women  appointed  by  the  king  to  the  oflSce 
of  tending,  for  this  night,  those  sick  and  wounded  on  the 
march  is  Goisvintha,  sister  of  Hermanric.  If  she  is  here,  let 
lier  approach  and  follow  me,"  said  the  chief  of  the  party  in 
authoritative  tones,  pausing  at  the  door  of  the  tent. 

Goisvintha  rose.  For  an  instant  she  stood  irresolute.  To 
quit  Hermanric  at  such  a  time  as  this  was  a  sacrifice  that 
wrung  her  savage  heart ;  but  she  remembered  the  severity 
of  Alaric's  discipline,  she  saw  the  armed  men  awaiting  her, 
and  yielded  after  a  struggle  to  the  imperious  necessity  of 
obedience  to  the  king's  commands.  Trembling  with  sup- 
pressed anger  and  bitter  disappointment,  she  whispered  to 
Hermanric  as  she  passed  him  : 

"  You  can  not  save  her  if  you  would  !  You  dare  not  com- 
mit her  to  the  charge  of  your  companions;  she  is  too  young 
and  too  fair  to  be  abandoned  to  their  doubtful  protection. 
You  can  not  escape  with  her,  for  you  must  remain  here  on 
the  watch  at  your  post.  You  will  not  let  her  depart  by 
herself,  for  you  know  that  she  would  perish  with  cold  and 
privation  before  the  morning  rises.  When  I  return  on  the 
morrow  I  shall  see  her  in  the  tent.  You  can  not  escape 
from  your  promise — you  can  not  forget  it — you  must  shed 
lier  blood !" 

"  The  commands  of  the  king,"  said  the  old  warrior,  sign- 
ing to  his  party  to  depart  with  Goisvintha,  who  now  stood 


154  antonika;   or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

with  forced  calmness  awaiting  their  guidance,  "  will  be  com- 
municated to  the  chieftain  Ileiinamic  on  the  morrow.  Re- 
member," he  continued,  in  a  lower  tone,  pointing  contempt- 
uously to  the  trembling  girl,  "  that  the  vigilance  you  have 
shown  in  setting  the  watch  before  yonder  gate  will  not  ex- 
cuse any  negligence  your  prize  there  may  now  cause  you  to 
commit.  Consult  your  youthful  pleasures  as  you  please,  but 
remember  your  duties.     Farewell !" 

Uttering  these  words  in  a  stern,  serious  tone,  the  veteran 
departed.  Soon  the  last  sound  of  the  footsteps  of  his  escort 
died  away,  and  Hermanric  and  the  fugitive  were  left  alone 
in  the  tent. 

During  the  address  of  the  old  warrior  to  the  chieftain,  the 
girl  had  silently  detached  herself  from  her  protector's  sup- 
port and  retired  hastily  to  the  interior  of  the  tent.  When 
she  saw  that  they  were  left  together  again,  she  advanced 
hesitatingly  toward  the  young  Goth,  and  looked  up  with  an 
expression  of  mute  inquiry  into  his  face. 

"  I  am  very  miserable,"  said  she,  after  an  interval  of  si- 
lence, in  soft,  clear,  melancholy  accents.  "  If  you  forsake  me 
now,  I  must  die — and  I  have  lived  so  short  a  time  on  the 
earth,  I  have  known  so  little  happiness  and  so  little  love, 
that  I  am  not  fit  to  die !  But  you  will  protect  me  !  You 
are  good  and  brave,  strong,  with  weapons  in  your  hands,  and 
full  of  pity.  You  have  defended  me,  and  spoken  kindly  of 
me — I  love  you  for  the  compassion  you  have  shown  me." 

Her  language  and  actions,  simple  as  they  were,  were  yet 
so  new  to  Hermanric,  whose  experience  of  her  sex  had  been 
almost  entirely  limited  to  the  women  of  his  own  stern,  im- 
passive nation,  that  he  could  only  reply  by  a  brief  assurance 
of  protection  when  the  supplicant  awaited  his  answer.  A 
new  page  in  the  history  of  humanity  was  opening  before  his 
eyes,  and  he  scanned  it  in  wondering  silence. 

"If  that  woman  should  return,"  pursued  the  girl,  fixing 
her  dark,  eloquent  eyes  intently  upon  the  Goth's  counte- 
nance, "take  me  quickly  where  she  can  not  come.  My  heart 
grows  cold  as  I  look  on  her !  She  will  kill  me  if  she  can  ap- 
proach me  again !  My  father's  anger  is  very  fearful,  but 
hers  is  horrible — horrible— horrible  !  Hush  !  already  I  hear 
her  coming  back;  let  us  go — I  will  follow  you  wherever 
you  please — but  let  us  not  delay  while  there  is  time  to  de- 


antonixa;  or,  thk  fall  of  kome.  155 

part !  She  will  destroy  me  if  she  sees  me  now,  and  I  can 
not  die  yet !  Oh  my  preserver,  ray  compassionate  defender, 
I  can  not  die  yet !" 

"  No  one  shall  harm  you — no  one  shall  approach  you  to- 
night—  you  are  secure  from  all  dangers  in  this  tent,"  said 
the  Goth,  gazing  on  her  with  undissembled  astonishment 
and  admiration. 

"I  will  tell  you  why  death  is  so  dreadful  to  me," she  con- 
tinued, and  her  voice  deepened  as  she  spoke,  to  tones  of  ' 
mournful  solemnity,  strangely  impressive  in  a  creature  so 
young:  "I  have  lived  much  alone,  and  have  had  no  com- 
panions but  my  thoughts,  and  the  sky  that  I  could  look  up 
to,  and  the  things  on  the  earth  that  I  could  watch.  As  I 
have  seen  the  clear  heaven  and  the  soft  fields,  and  smelled 
the  perfume  of  flowers,  and  heard  the  voices  of  singing-birds 
afar  off",  I  have  wondered  why  the  same  God  who  made  all 
this,  and  made  me,  should  have  made  grief  and  pain  and  hell 
—  the  dread  eternal  hell  that  my  father  speaks  of  in  his 
church.  I  never  looked  at  the  sunlight,  or  woke  from  my 
sleep  to  look  on  and  to  think  of  the  distant  stars,  but  I  long- 
ed to  love  something  that  might  listen  to  my  joy.  But  my 
father  forbade  me  to  be  happy  !  He  frowned  even  when  he 
gave  me  my  flower-garden — though  God  made  flowers.  He 
destroyed  my  lute — though  God  made  music.  My  life  has 
been  a  longing  in  loneliness  for  the  voices  of  friends !  My 
heart  has  swelled  and  trembled  within  me,  because  when  I 
walked  in  the  garden  and  looked  on  the  plains  and  woods 
and  high,  bright  mountains  ^hat  were  round  me,  I  knew 
that  I  loved  them  alone!  Do  you  know  now  why  I  dare 
not  die?  It  is  because  I  must  find  first  the  happiness  which 
I  feel  God  has  made  for  me.  It  is  because  I  must  live  to 
praise  this  wonderful,  beautiful  world  with  others  who  en- 
joy it  as  I  could !  It  is  because  ray  home  has  been  among 
those  who  sigh,  and  never  among  those  who  smile !  It  is 
for  this  that  I  fear  to  die  !  I  must  find  companions  whose 
prayers  are  in  singing  and  in  happiness,  before  I  go  to  the 
terrible  hereafter  that  all  dread.  I  dare  not  die  !  I  dare 
not  die !" 

As  she  uttered  these  last  words  she  began  to  weep  bitter- 
ly. Between  amazement  and  compassion  the  young  Goth 
"was  speechless.     He  looked  down  upon  the  small,  soft  hand 


1 56         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

that  she  had  placed  on  his  arm  while  she  spoke,  and  saw 
that  it  trembled  ;  he  pressed  it,  and  felt  that  it  was  cold ; 
and  in  the  first  impulse  of  pity  produced  by  the  action  he 
found  the  readiness  of  speech  which  he  had  hitherto  striven 
for  in  vain. 

"You  shiver  and  look  pale,"  said  he;  "a  fire  shall  be  kin- 
dled at  the  door  of  the  tent.  I  will  bring  you  garments 
that  will  warm  you,  and  food  that  will  give  you  strength ; 
.you  shall  sleep,  and  I  will  watch  that  no  one  harms  you," 

The  girl  hastily  looked  up.  An  expression  of  inefiable 
gratitude  overspread  her  sorrowful  countenance.  She  mur- 
mured in  a  broken  voice,  "  Oh,  how  merciful,  how  merciful 
you  are!"  And  then,  after  an  evident  struggle  with  her- 
self, she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  again  burst 
into  tears. 

More  and  more  embarrassed,  Hermanric  mechanically 
busied  himself  in  procuring  from  such  of  his  attendants  as 
the  necessities  of  the  blockade  left  free,  the  supplies  of  fire, 
food,  and  raiment  which  he  had  promised.  She  received 
the  coverings,  approached  the  blazing  fuel,  and  partook  of 
the  simple  refreshment  which  the  young  warrior  offered  her, 
with  eagerness.  After  that  she  sat  for  some  time  silent,  ab- 
sorbed in  deep  meditation,  and  cowering  over  the  fire,  ap- 
parently unconscious  of  the  curiosity  with  which  she  was 
still  regarded  by  the  Goth.  At  length  she  suddenly  looked 
up,  and  observing  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  arose  and  beckoned 
him  to  the  seat  that  she  occupied. 

"Did  you  know  how  utterly  forsaken  I  am,"  said  she, 
"  you  would  not  wonder  as  you  do,  that  I,  a  stranger  and  a 
Roman,  have  sought  you  thus.  I  have  told  you  how  lonely 
was  my  home;  but  yet  that  home  was  a  refuge  and  a  pro- 
tection to  me  until  the  morning  of  this  long  day  that  is 
past,  when  I  was  expelled  from  it  forever!  I  was  sudden- 
ly awakened  in  my  bed  by — my  father  entered  in  anger — he 
called  me" — 

She  hesitated,  blushed,  and  then  paused  at  the  very  out- 
set of  her  narrative.  Innocent  as  she  was,  the  natural  in- 
stincts of  her  sex  spoke,  though  in  a  mysterious  yet  in  a 
warning  tone,  within  her  heart,  abrn})tly  imposing  on  her 
motives  for  silence  that  she  could  neither  penetrate  nor  ex- 
plain.    She  clasped  her  trembling  hands  over  her  bosom  as 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  157 

if  to  repress  its  heaving,  and  casting  down  her  eyes,  con- 
tinued in  a  lower  tone: 

"I  can  not  tell  you  why  my  father  drove  me  from  his 
doors.  He  has  always  been  silent  and  sorrowful  to  me; 
setting  me  long  tasks  in  mournful  books;  commanding 
that  I  should  not  quit  the  precincts  of  his  abode,  and  for- 
bidding me  to  speak  to  him  when  I  have  sometimes  ask- 
ed him  to  tell  me  of  my  mother  whom  I  have  lost.  Yet 
he  never  threatened  me  or  drove  me  from  his  side,  until 
the  morning  of  which  I  have  told  you.  Then  his  wrath 
was  terrible ;  his  eyes  were  fierce ;  his  voice  was  threat- 
ening I  He  bade  me  begone,  and  I  obeyed  him  in  af- 
fright, for  I  thought  he  would  have  slain  me  if  I  staid  !  I 
fled  fiom  the  house,  knowing  not  where  I  went,  and  ran 
through  yonder  gate,  which  is  hard  by  our  abode.  As  I 
entered  the  suburbs,  I  met  great  crowds,  all  hurrying  into 
Rome.  I  was  bewildered  by  my  fears  and  the  confusion  all 
around,  yet  I  remember  that  they  called  loudly  to  me  to  fly 
to  the  city  ere  the  gates  were  closed  against  the  assault  of 
the  Goths.  And  others  jostled  and  scofled  at  me,  as  they 
passed  by  and  saw  me  in  the  thin  night  garments  in  which 
I  was  banished  from  my  home." 

Hei-e  she  paused  and  listened  intently  for  a  few  moments. 
Every  accidental  noise  that  she  heard  still  awakened  in 
her  the  apprehension  of  Goisvintha's  return.  Re-assured  by 
Hermanric  and  bj'  her  own  observation  of  all  that  was  pass- 
ing outside  the  tent,  she  resumed  her  narrative  after  an  in- 
terval, speaking  now  in  a  steadier  voice. 

"I  thought  my  heart  would  burst  within  me,"  she  contin- 
ued, "  as  I  tried  to  escape  them.  All  things  whirled  before 
my  eyes.  I  could  not  speak — I  could  not  stop — I  could  not 
weep.  I  fled  and  fled  I  knew  not  whither,  until  I  sank 
down  exhausted  at  the  door  of  a  small  house  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  suburbs.  Then  I  called  for  aid,  but  no  one 
was  by  to  hear  me.  I  crept — for  I  could  stand  no  longer — 
into  the  house.  It  was  empty.  I  looked  from  the  win- 
dows: no  human  figure  passed  through  the  silent  streets. 
The  roar  of  a  mighty  confusion  still  rose  from  the  walls  of 
the  city,  but  I  was  left  to  listen  to  it  alone.  In  the  house  I 
saw^  scattered  on  the  floor  some  fragments  of  bread  and  an 
old  garment.     I  took  them  both,  and  then  rose  and  depart- 


158  antonina;  or,  the  faij,  of  rome. 

ed ;  for  the  silence  of  the  place  was  horrible  to  rae,  and  I  re- 
membered the  fields  and  the  plains  that  I  had  once  loved  to 
look  on,  and  I  thought  that  I  might  find  there  the  refuge 
that  had  been  denied  to  me  at  Rome !  So  I  set  forth  once 
more ;  and  when  I  gained  the  soft  grass,  and  sat  down  be- 
side the  shady  trees,  and  saw  the  sunlight  brightening  over 
the  earth,  my  heart  grew  sad,  and  I  wept  as  I  thought  on 
my  loneliness  and  remembered  my  father's  anger. 

"I  had  not  long  remained  in  my  resting-place,  when  I 
heard  a  sound  of  trumpets  in  the  distance,  and  looking  forth 
I  saw,  far  off,  advancing  over  the  plains,  a  mighty  multitude 
with  arms  that  glittered  in  the  sun.  I  strove,  as  I  beheld 
them,  to  arise  and  return  even  to  those  suburbs  whose  sol- 
itude had  affrighted  me.  But  my  limbs  failed  me.  I  saw  a 
little  hollow  hidden  among  the  trees  around.  I  entered  it, 
and  there  throughout  the  lonely  day  I  lay  concealed.  I 
heard  the  long  tramp  of  footsteps,  as  your  army  passed  me 
on  the  roads  beneath ;  and  then,  after  those  hours  of  fear 
came  the  weary  hours  of  solitude. 

"Oh,  those  lonely — lonely — lonely  hours!  I  have  lived 
without  companions,  but  those  hours  were  more  terrible  to 
me  than  all  the  years  of  my  former  life !  I  dared  not  vent- 
ure to  leave  my  hiding-place — I  dared  not  call !  Alone  in 
the  world,  I  crouched  in  my  refuge  till  the  sun  went  down ! 
Then  came  the  mist,  and  the  darkness,  and  the  cold.  The 
bitter  winds  of  night  thrilled  through  and  through  me ! 
The  lonely  obscurity  around  me  seemed  filled  with  phan- 
toms whom  I  could  not  behold,  who  touched  me  and  rustled 
over  the  surface  of  my  skin.  They  half  maddened  me !  I 
rose  to  depart;  to  meet  my  wrathful  father,  or  the  army 
that  had  passed  me,  or  solitude  in  the  cold,  bright  meadows 
— I  cared  not  which ! — when  I  discerned  the  light  of  your 
torch,  the  moment  ere  it  was  extinguished.  Dark  though  it 
then  was,  I  found  your  tent.  And  now  I  know  that  I  have 
found  yet  more — a  companion  and  a  friend  !" 

She  looked  up  at  the  young  Goth  as  she  pronounced  these 
words  with  the  same  grateful  expression  that  had  appeared 
on  her  countenance  before;  but  this  time  her  eyes  were  not 
dimmed  by  tears.  Already  her  disposition — poor  as  was  the 
prospect  of  happiness  which  now  lay  before  it — had  begun 
to  return,  with  an  almost  infantine  facility  of  change,  to  the 


antontna;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  159 

restoring  influences  of  the  brighter  emotions.  Already  the 
sliort  tranquillities  of  the  present  began  to  exert  for  her  their 
effacing  charm  over  the  long  agitations  of  the  past.  Despair 
■svas  unnumbered  among  the  emotions  that  grew  round  that 
child-like  heart;  shame,  fear,  and  grief,  however  they  might 
overshadow  it  for  a  time,  left  no  taint  of  their  presence  on 
its  bright,  fine  surface.  Tender,  perilously  alive  to  sensation, 
strangely  retentive  of  kindness  as  she  was  by  nature,  the 
very  solitude  to  which  she  had  been  condemned  had  gifted 
her,  young  as  she  was,  with  a  martyr's  endurance  of  ill,  and 
with  a  stoic's  patience  under  pain. 

"Do  not  mourn  for  me  now,"  she  pursued,  gently  inter- 
rupting some  broken  expressions  of  compassion  which  fell 
from  the  lips  of  the  young  Goth.  "  If  you  are  merciful  to 
me,  I  shall  forget  all  that  I  have  suffered  !  Though  your 
nation  is  at  enmity  with  mine,  while  you  remain  my  friend,! 
fear  nothing !  I  can  look  on  your  great  stature,  and  heavy 
sword,  and  bright  armor  now  without  trembling !  You  are 
not  like  the  soldiers  of  Rome — you  are  taller,  stronger,  more 
gloriously  arrayed !  You  are  like  a  statue  I  once  saw  by 
chance  of  a  warrior  of  the  Greeks.  You  have  a  look  of  con- 
quest and  a  presence  of  command  I" 

She  gazed  on  the  manly  and  powerful  frame  of  the  yonng 
warrior,  clothed  as  it  was  in  the  accoutrements  of  his  war- 
like nation,  with  an  expression  of  childish  interest  and  aston- 
ishment, asking  him  the  appellation  and  use  of  each  part  of 
his  equipment,  as  it  attracted  her  attention,  and  ending  her 
inquiries  by  eagerly  demanding  his  name. 

"Hermanric,"  she  rey>eated,  as  he  answered  her,  pronoun- 
cing with  some  difliculty  the  harsh  Gothic  syllables — "Her- 
manric ! — that  is  a  stern,  solemn  name — a  name  fit  for  a  war- 
rior and  a  man.  Mine  sounds  worthless,  after  such  a  name 
as  that.     It  is  only  Antonina  !" 

Deeply  as  he  was  interested  in  every  word  uttered  by  the 
girl,  Hermanric  could  no  longer  fail  to  perceive  the  evident 
traces  of  exhaustion  that  now  appeared  in  the  slightest  of 
her  actions.  Producing  some  furs  from  a  corner  of  the 
tent,  he  made  a  sort  of  rude  £Ouch  by  the  side  of  the  fire, 
heaped  fresh  fuel  on  the  flames,  and  then  gently  counseled 
her  to  recruit  her  wasted  energies  by  repose.  There  was 
something  so  candid  in  his  manner,  so  sincere  in  the  tones  of 


160  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

his  voice,  as  he  made  his  simple  offer  of  hospitality  to  the 
stranger  who  had  taken  refuge  with  him,  that  the  most  dis- 
trustful woman  would  have  accepted  it  with  as  little  hesita- 
tion as  Antonina;  who,  gratefully  and  unhesitatingly,  laid 
down  on  the  bed  that  he  had  been  spreading  for  her  at  her 
feet. 

As  soon  as  he  had  carefully  covered  her  with  a  cloak,  and 
re-arranged  her  couch  in  the  position  best  calculated  to  in- 
sure her  all  the  warmth  of  the  burning  fuel,  Hermaniic  re- 
tired to  the  other  side  of  the  fire  ;  and,  leaning  on  his  sword, 
abandoned  himself  to  the  new  and  absorbing  reflections 
which  the  presence  of  the  girl  naturally  aroused. 

He  thought  not  on  the  duties  demanded  of  him  by  the 
blockade ;  he  remembered  neither  the  scene  of  rage  and  fe- 
rocity that  had  followed  his  evasion  of  his  reckless  promise, 
nor  the  fierce  determination  that  Goisvintha  had  expressed 
as  she  quitted  him  for  the  night.  The  cares  and  toils  to 
come  with  the  new  morning,  which  would  oblige  him  to  ex- 
pose the  fugitive  to  the  malignity  of  her  revengeful  enemy ; 
the  thousand  contingencies  that  the  difference  of  their  sexes, 
their  nations,  and  their  lives,  might  create  to  oppose  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  permanent  protection  that  he  had  promised 
to  her,  caused  him  no  forebodings.  Antonina,  and  Antonina 
alone,  occupied  every  faculty  of  his  mind  and  every  feeling 
of  his  heart.  There  was  a  softness  and  a  melody  to  his  ear 
in  her  very  name ! 

His  early  life  had  made  him  well  acquainted  with  the  Lat- 
in tongue,  but  he  had  never  discovered  all  its  native  smooth- 
ness of  sound,  and  elegance  of  structure,  until  he  had  heard 
it  spoken  by  Antonina.  Word  by  word  he  passed  over  in 
his  mind  her  varied,  natural,  and  happy  turns  of  expression  ; 
recalling,  as  he  was  thus  employed,  the  eloquent  looks,  the 
rapid  gesticulations,  the  changing  tones  which  had  accom- 
panied those  words,  and  thinking  how  wide  was  the  differ- 
ence between  this  young  daughter  of  Rome  and  the  cold 
and  taciturn  women  of  his  own  nation.  The  very  mystery 
enveloping  her  story,  which  would  have  excited  the  suspi- 
cion or  contempt  of  more  civilized  men,  aroused  in  him  no 
other  emotions  than  those  of  wonder  and  compassion.  No 
feelings  of  a  lower  nature  than  these  entered  his  heart  to- 
ward the  girl.     She  was  safe  under  the  protection  of  the 


AXTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.  161 

enemy  and  the  barbarian,  after  having  been  lost  through  the 
interference  of  the  Roman  and  the  senator. 

To  the  simple  perceptions  of  the  Goth,  the  discovery  of  so 
much  intelligence  united  to  such  extreme  youth,  of  so  much 
beauty  doomed  to  such  utter  loneliness,  was  the  discovery 
of  an  apparition  that  dazzled,  and  not  of  a  woman  who 
charmed  him.  He  could  not  even  have  touched  the  hand 
of  the  helpless  creature  who  now  reposed  under  his  tent,  un- 
less she  had  extended  it  to  him  of  her  own  accord.  He  could 
only  think — with  a  delight  whose  excess  he  was  far  from  es- 
timating himself — on  this  solitary,  mysterious  being  who  had 
come  to  him  for  shelter  and  for  aid ;  who  had  awakened  in 
him  already  new  sources  of  sensation  ;  and  who  seemed  to 
his  startled  imagination  to  have  suddenly  twined  herself  for- 
ever about  the  destinies  of  his  future  life. 

He  was  still  deep  in  meditation,  when  he  was  startled  by 
a  hand  suddenly  laid  on  his  arm.  He  looked  up  and  saw 
that  Antonina,  whom  he  had  imagined  to  be  slumbering  on 
her  couch,  was  standing  by  his  side. 

"I  can  not  sleep,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  low,  awe-struck  voice, 
"  until  I  have  asked  you  to  spare  my  father  when  you  enter 
Rome.  I  know  that  you  are  here  to  ravage  the  city  ;  and, 
for  aught  I  can  tell,  you  may  assault  and  destroy  it  to-night. 
Will  you  promise  to  warn  me  before  the  walls  are  assailed  ? 
I  will  then  tell  you  my  father's  name  and  abode,  and  you 
will  spare  him  as  you  liave  mercifully  spared  mef  He  has 
denied  me  his  protection,  but  he  is  my  father  still ;  and  I  re- 
member that  I  disobeyed  him  once,  when  I  possessed  myself 
of  a  lute  !  Will  j-ou  promise  me  to  spare  him  ?  My  moth- 
er, whom  I  have  never  seen,  and  who  must,  therefore,  be  dead, 
may  love  me  in  another  world  for  pleading  for  my  father's 
life !" 

In  a  few  words  Hermanric  quieted  her  agitation  by  ex- 
plaining to  her  the  nature  and  intention  of  the  Gothic  block- 
ade, and  she  silently  returned  to  the  couch.  After  a  short 
interval,  her  slow,  regular  breathing  announced  to  the  young 
warrior,  as  he  watched  by  the  side  of  the  fire,  that  she  had 
at  length  forgotten  the  day's  heritage  of  misfortune  iq  the 
welcorne  oblivion  of  sleep. 


162         AUTONLNA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  TWO  INTERVIEWS. 

The  time,  is  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of  the  Gothic 
blockade;  the  place,  is  Vetranio's  palace  at  Rome.  In  one 
of  the  private  apartments  of  his  mansion  is  seated  its  all-ac- 
complished owner,  released  at  length  from  the  long  sitting 
convened  by  the  Senate  on  the  occasion  of  the  unexpected 
siege  of  the  city.  Although  the  same  complete  discipline, 
the  same  elegant  regularity,  and  the  same  luxurious  pomp 
which  distinguished  the  senator's  abode  in  times  of  security 
still  prevail  over  it  in  the  time  of  imminent  danger  which 
now  threatens  rich  and  poor  alike  in  Rome,  Yetranio  him- 
self appears  far  from  partaking  the  tranquillity  of  his  patri- 
cian household.  His  manner  displays  an  unusual  sternness, 
and  his  face  an  unwonted  displeasure,  as  he  sits  occupied  by 
his  silent  reflections  and  thoroughly  unregardful  of  whatever 
occurs  around  him.  Two  ladies  who  are  his  companions  in 
the  apartment  exert  all  their  blandishments  to  win  him  back 
to  hilarity,  but  in  vain.  The  services  of  his  expectant  mu- 
sicians are  not  put  into  requisition,  the  delicacies  on  his 
table  remain  untouched,  and  even  "  the  inestimable  kitten 
of  the  breed  most  worshiped  by  the  ancient  Egyptians" 
gambols  unnoticed  and  unapplauded  at  his  feet.  All  its 
wonted  philosophical  equanimity  has  evidently  departed, 
for  the  time  at  least,  from  the  senator's  mind. 

Silence — hitherto  a  stranger  to  the  palace  apartments — 
had  reigned  uninterruptedly  over  them  for  some  time,  when 
the  freedman  Carrio  dissipated  Vetranio's  meditations,  and 
put  the  ladies  who  were  with  him  to  flight,  by  announcing 
in  an  important  voice  that  the  Prefect  Pompeianus  desired 
a  private  interview  with  the  Senator  Vetranio. 

The  next  instant  the  chief  magistrate  of  Rome  entered 
the  apartment.  He  was  a  short,  fat,  undignified  man.  In- 
dolence and  vacillation  were  legibly  impressed  on  his  ap- 
pearance and  expression.  You  saw,  in  a  moment,  that  his 
mind,  like  a  shuttlecock,  might  be  urged  in  any  direction  by 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome.  163 

the  efforts  of  others,  but  was  utterly  incapable  of  volition 
by  itself.  But  once  in  his  life  had  the  Prefect  Pompeianus 
been  known  to  arrive  unaided  at  a  positive  determination, 
and  that  was  in  deciding  a  fierce  argument  between  a  bish- 
op and  a  general,  regarding  the  relative  merits  of  two  rival 
rope-dancers  of  equal  renown. 

"I  have  come,  my  beloved  friend,"  said  the  prefect  in  agi- 
tated tones,  "  to  ask  your  opinion,  at  this  period  of  awful  re- 
sponsibility for  us  all,  on  the  plan  of  operations  proposed  by 
the  Senate  at  the  sitting  of  to-day  !  But  first,"  he  hastily 
continued,  perceiving,  with  the  unerring  instinct  of  an  old 
gastronome,  that  the  inviting  refreshments  on  Yetranio's  ta- 
ble had  remained  untouched,  "permit  me  to  fortify  my  ex- 
hausted energies  by  a  visit  to  your  ever-luxurious  board. 
Alas,  my  friend,  when  I  consider  the  present  fearful  scarcity 
of  our  provision  stores  in  the  city,  and  the  length  of  time 
that  this  accursed  blockade  may  be  expected  to  last,  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  the  gods  alone  know — I  mean  St.  Peter 
— how  much  longer  we  may  be  enabled  to  give  occupation  to 
our  digestions  and  employment  to  our  cooks. 

"  I  have  observed,"  pursued  the  prefect,  after  an  interval, 
speaking  with  his  mouth  full  of  stewed  peacock;"!  have 
observed,  oh  esteemed  colleague  !  the  melancholy  of  your 
manner  and  your  absolute  silence  during  your  attendance 
to-day  at  our  deliberations.  Have  we,  in  your  opinion,  de- 
cided erroneously  ?  It  is  not  impossible !  Our  confusion  at 
this  unexpected  appearance  of  the  barbarians  may  have 
blinded  our  usual  penetration !  If  by  any  chance  you  dis- 
sent from  our  plans,  I  beseech  you  communicate  your  objec- 
tions to  me  without  reserve  !" 

"I  dissent  from  nothing,  because  I  have  heard  nothing," 
replied  Vetranio,  sullenly,  "  I  was  so  occupied  by  a  private 
matter  of  importance  during  my  attendance  at  the  sitting 
of  the  Senate,  that  I  was  deaf  to  their  deliberations.  I  know 
that  we  are  besieged  by  the  Goths — why  are  they  not  driv- 
en from  before  the  walls?" 

"Deaf  to  our  deliberations!  Drive  the  Goths  from  the 
walls !"  repeated  the  prefect,  faintly.  "Can  you  think  of 
any  private  matter  at  such  a  moment  as  this?  Do  you 
know  our  danger?  Do  you  know  that  our  friends  are  so  as- 
tonished at  this  frightful  calamity  that  they  move  about  like 


1 64         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

men  half  awakened  from  a  dream?  Have  you  not  seen  the 
streets  filled  with  terrified  and  indignant  crowds?  Have 
you  not  mounted  the  ramparts  and  beheld  the  innumerable 
multitudes  of  pitiless  Goths  surrounding  us  on  all  sides,  in- 
tercepting our  supplies  of  provisions  from  the  country,  and 
menacing  us  with  a  speedy  famine,  unless  our  hoped-for 
auxiliaries  arrive  from  Ravenna?" 

"I  have  neither  mounted  the  ramparts,  nor  viewed  with 
any  attention  the  crowds  in  the  streets,"  replied  Yetranio, 
carelessly. 

"  But  if  you  have  seen  nothing  yourself,  you  must  have 
beard  what  others  saw,"  persisted  the  prefect ;  "  you  must 
know  at  least  that  the  legions  we  have  in  the  city  are  not 
sufficient  to  guard  more  than  half  the  circuit  of  the  walls. 
Has  no  one  informed  you  that  if  it  should  please  the  leader 
of  the  barbarians  to  change  his  blockade  into  an  assault,  it 
is  more  than  probable  that  we  should  be  unable  to  repulse 
him  successfully?  Are  you  still  deaf  to  our  deliberations, 
when  your  palace  may  to-morrow  be  burned  over  your  head, 
when  we  may  be  starved  to  death,  when  we  may  be  doomed 
to  eternal  dislionor  by  being  driven  to  conclude  a  peace? 
Deaf  to  our  deliberations,  when  such  an  unimaginable  ca- 
lamity as  this  invasion  has  fallen  like  a  thunder-bolt  under 
our  very  walls !  You  amaze  me !  You  overwhelm  me ! 
You  horrify  me  !" 

And  in  the  excess  of  his  astonishment  the  bewildered  pre- 
fect actually  abandoned  his  stewed  peacock,  and  advanced, 
wine-cup  in  hand,  to  obtain  a  nearer  view  of  the  features  of 
his  imperturbable  host. 

"  If  we  are  not  strong  enough  to  drive  the  Goths  out  of 
Italy,"  rejoined  Vetranio,  coolly,  "  you  and  the  Senate  know 
that  we  are  rich  enough  to  bribe  them  to  depart  to  the  re- 
motest confines  of  the  emjiire.  If  we  have  not  swords  enough 
to  fight,  we  have  gold  and  silver  enough  to  pay." 

"You  are  jesting!  Remember  our  honor  and  the  auxili- 
aries we  still  hope  for  from  Ravenna,"  said  the  prefect,  re- 
provingly. 

"Honor  has  lost  the  signification  now  that  it  had  in  the 
time  of  the  Caesars,"  retorted  the  senator.  "Our  fighting 
days  are  over.  We  have  had  heroes  enough  for  our  reputa- 
tion.    As  for  the  auxiliaries  you  still  hope  for,  you  will  have 


ANTONINA;    or,  the    fall   of   ROME.  165 

none  !  While  the  emperor  is  safe  in  Ravenna,  he  will  care 
nothing  for  the  worst  extremities  that  can  be  suffered  by 
the  people  of  Rome." 

"  But  you  forget  your  duties,"  urged  the  astonished  Pom- 
peianus,  turning  from  rebuke  to  expostulation.  "You  for- 
get that  it  is  a  time  when  all  private  interests  must  be  aban- 
doned !  You  forget  that  I  have  come  here  to  ask  your  ad- 
vice; that  I  am  bewildered  by  a  thousand  projects,  forced 
on  me  from  all  sides,  for  ruling  the  city  successfully  during 
the  blockade  ;  that  I  look  to  you,  as  a  friend  and  a  man  of 
reputation,  to  aid  me  in  deciding  on  a  choice  out  of  the  va- 
ried counsels  submitted  to  me  in  the  Senate  to-day." 

"  Write  down  the  advice  of  each  senator  on  a  separate 
strip  of  vellum ;  shake  all  the  strips  together  in  an  urn  ;  and 
then,  let  the  first  you  take  out  by  chance  be  your  guide  to 
govern  by  in  the  present  condition  of  the  city  !"  said  Vetra- 
nio,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Oh  friend,  friend,  it  is  cruel  to  jest  with  me  thus  !"  cried 
the  prefect,  in  tones  of  lament.  "  Would  you  really  per- 
suade me  you  are  ignorant  that  what  sentinels  we  have  are 
doubled  already  on  the  walls  ?  Would  you  attempt  to  de- 
clare seriously  to  me  that  you  never  heard  the  project  of 
Saturiiinus  for  reducing  imperceptibly  the  diurnal  allowance 
of  provisions  ?  Or  the  recommendation  of  Emilianus,  that 
the  people  should  be  kept  from  thinking  on  the  dangers  and 
extremities  which  now  threaten  them,  by  being  provided 
incessantly  with  public  amusements  at  the  theatres  and  hip- 
podromes? Do  you  really  mean  that  you  are  indifferent  to 
the  horrors  of  our  present  situation?  By  the  souls  of  the 
apostles,  Vetranio,  I  begin  to  think  that  you  do  not  believe 
in  the  Goths !" 

"I  have  already  told  you  that  private  affairs  occupy  me 
at  present,  to  the  exclusion  of  public,"  said  Vetranio,  impa- 
tiently. "Debate  as  you  choose  —  approve  what  projects 
you  will — I  withdraw  myself  from  interference  in  your  de- 
liberations 1" 

"This,"  murmured  the  repulsed  prefect  in  soliloquy,  as  he 
mechanically  resumed  his  place  at  the  refreshment -table, 
"  this  is  the  very  end  and  climax  of  all  calamities !  Now, 
when  advice  and  assistance  are  more  precious  than  jewels  in 
my  estimation,  I  receive  neither!      I  gain  from  none  the 


166  antonina;  ok,  the  fall  op  eomk. 

wise  and  saving  counsels  which,  as  chief  magistrate  of  this 
imperial  city,  it  is  my  right  to  demand  from  all ;  and  the 
man  on  whom  I  most  depended  is  the  man  who  fails  me 
most !  Yet  hear  me,  oh  Vetranio,  once  again,"  he  continued, 
addressing  the  senator;  "if  our  perils  beyond  the  walls  af- 
fect you  not,  there  is  a  weighty  matter  that  has  been  settled 
within  them,  which  must  move  you.  After  you  had  quitted 
the  Senate,  Serena,  the  widow  of  Stilicho,  was  accused,  as 
her  husband  was  accused  before  her,  of  secret  and  treasona- 
ble correspondence  with  the  Goths ;  and  has  been  condemn- 
ed, as  her  husband  was  condemned,  to  suffer  the  penalty  of 
death.  I  myself  discerned  no  evidence  to  convict  her;  but 
the  populace  cried  out,  in  universal  frenzy,  that  she  was 
guilty,  that  she  should  die ;  and  that  the  barbarians,  when 
they  heard  of  the  punishment  inflicted  on  their  secret  ad- 
herent, would  retire  in  dismay  from  Rome.  This  also  was 
a  moot-point  of  argument,  on  which  I  vainly  endeavored  to 
decide;  but  the  Senate  and  the  people  were  wiser  than  I; 
and  Serena  was  condemned  to  be  strangled  to-morrow  by 
the  public  executioner.  She  was  a  woman  of  good  report 
before  this  time,  and  is  the  adopted  mother  of  the  emperor. 
It  is  now  doubted  by  many  whether  Stilicho,  her  husband, 
was  ever  guilty  of  the  correspondence  with  the  Goths  of 
which  he  was  accused ;  and  I,  on  my  part,  doubt  much  that 
Serena  has  deserved  the  punishment  of  death  at  our  hands. 
I  beseech  you,  Vetranio,  let  me  be  enlightened  by  your  opin- 
ion on  this  one  point  at  least !" 

The  prefect  waited  anxiously  for  an  answer,  but  Vetranio 
neither  looked  at  him  nor  replied.  It  was  evident  that  the 
senator  had  not  listened  to  a  word  that  he  had  said. 

This  reception  of  his  final  appeal  for  assistance  produced 
the  effect  on  the  petitioner  which  it  was  perhaps  designed 
to  convey — the  Prefect  Pompeianus  quitted  the  room  in  de- 
spair. 

He  had  not  long  departed,  when  Carrio  again  entered  the 
apartment,  and  addressed  his  master  thus : 

"It  is  grievous  for  me,  revered  patron,  to  disclose  it  to 
you,  but  your  slaves  have  returned  unsuccessful  from  the 
search !" 

"Give  the  description  of  the  girl  to  a  fresh  division  of 
them,  and  let  them  continue  their  efforts  throughout  the 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome,  167 

night,  not  only  in  the  streets,  but  in  all  the  houses  of  public 
entertainment  in  the  city.  She  must  be  in  Rome,  and  she 
must  be  found  !"  said  the  senator,  gloomily. 

Carrio  bowed  profoundly,  and  was  about  to  depart,  when 
he  was  arrested  at  the  door  by  his  master's  voice. 

"If  an  old  man,  calling  himself  Numerian,  should  desire 
to  see  me,"  said  Vetranio, "admit  him  instantly." 

"She  had  quitted  the  room  but  a  short  time  when  I  at- 
tempted to  reclaim  her,"  pursued  the  senator,  speaking  to 
himself;  "  and  yet  when  I  gained  the  open  air  she  was  no- 
where to  be  seen  !  She  must  have  mingled  unintentionally 
with  the  crowds  whom  the  Goths  drove  into  the  city,  and 
thus  have  eluded  my  observation.  So  young  and  so  inno- 
cent !     She  must  be  found  !     She  must  be  found  !" 

He  paused,  once  more  engrossed  in  deep  and  melancholy 
thought.  After  a  long  interval,  he  was  roused  from  bis  ab- 
straction by  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  marble  floor.  He 
looked  up.  The  door  had  been  opened  without  his  perceiv- 
ing it,  and  an  old  man  was  advancing  with  slow  and  trem- 
bling steps  toward  his  silken  couch.  It  was  the  bereaved 
and  broken-hearted  Numerian. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  Is  she  found  ?"  asked  the  father,  gazing 
anxiously  round  the  room,  as  if  he  had  expected  to  see  his 
daughter  there. 

"My  slaves  still  search  for  her,"  said  Vetranio,  mourn- 
fully. 

"Ah,  woe  —  woe  —  woe!  How  I  wronged  her!  How  I 
wronged  her !"  cried  the  old  man,  turning  to  depart. 

"Listen  to  me  ere  you  go,"  said  Vetranio,  gently  detain- 
ing him.  "  I  have  done  you  a  great  wrong,  but  I  will  yet 
atone  for  it  by  finding  for  you  your  child !  While  there 
were  women  who  would  have  triumphed  in  my  admiration, 
I  should  not  have  attempted  to  deprive  you  of  your  daugh- 
ter !  Remember,  when  you  recover  her — and  you  shall  re- 
cover her — that  from  the  time  when  I  first  decoyed  her  into 
listening  to  my  lute,  to  the  night  when  your  traitorous  serv- 
ant led  me  to  her  bed-chamber,  she  has  been  innocent  in  this 
ill-considered  matter.  I  alone  have  been  guilty !  She  was 
scarcely  awakened  when  you  discovered  her  in  my  arms, 
and  my  entry  into  her  chamber  was  as  little  expected  by 
her  as  it  was  by  you.     I  was  bewildered  by  the  fumes  of 


168  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome, 

■wiiie  and  the  astonishment  of  your  sudden  appearance,  or  I 
should  have  rescued  her  from  your  anger  ere  it  was  too  late  ! 
The  events  which  have  passed  this  morning, confused  though 
they  were,  have  yet  convinced  me  that  I  had  mistaken  you 
both.  I  now  know  that  your  child  was  too  pure  to  be  an 
object  fitted  for  my  pursuit ;  and  I  believe  that  in  secluding 
her  as  you  did,  however  ill-advised  you  might  appear,  you 
were  honest  in  your  design.  Never  in  my  pursuit  of  pleas- 
ure did  I  commit  so  fatal  an  error,  as  when  I  entered  the 
doors  of  your  house  !" 

In  pronouncing  these  words,  Vetranio  but  gave  expres- 
sion to  the  sentiments  by  which  they  were  really  inspired. 
As  we  have  before  observed,  profligate  as  he  was  by  thought- 
lessness of  character  and  license  of  social  position,  he  was 
neither  heartless  nor  criminal  by  nature.  Fathers  had  storm- 
ed, but  his  generosity  had  hitherto  invariably  pacified  them. 
Daughters  had  wept,  but  had  found  consolation  on  all  pre- 
vious occasions  in  the  splendor  of  his  palace  and  the  amia- 
bility of  his  disposition.  In  attempting,  therefore,  the  ab- 
duction of  Antonina,  though  he  had  prepared  for  unusual 
obstacles,  he  had  expected  no  worse  results  of  his  new  con- 
quest than  those  that  had  followed,  as  yet,  his  gallantries 
that  were  past.  But  when,  in  the  solitude  of  his  own 
home,  and  in  the  complete  possession  of  his  faculties,  he  re- 
called all  the  circumstances  of  his  attempt,  from  the  time 
when  he  had  stolen  on  the  girl's  slumbers  to  the  moment 
when  she  had  fled  from  the  house ;  when  he  remembered 
the  stern  concentrated  anger  of  Xumerian,  and  the  agony 
and  despair  of  Antonina;  when  he  thought  on  the  spirit- 
broken  repentance  of  the  deceived  father,  and  the  fatal  de- 
parture of  the  injured  daughter,  he  felt  as  a  man  who  had 
not  merely  committed  an  indiscretion,  but  had  been  guilty 
of  a  crime ;  he  became  convinced  that  he  had  incurred  the 
fearful  responsibility  of  destroying  the  happiness  of  a  parent 
who  was  really  virtuous,  and  a  child  who  was  truly  inno- 
cent. To  a  man,  the  business  of  whose  whole  life  was  to 
procure  for  himself  a  heritage  of  unalloyed  pleasure,  whose 
sole  occupation  was  to  pamper  that  refined  sensuality  w'hich 
the  habits  of  a  life  had  made  the  very  material  of  his  heart, 
by  diff'using  luxury  and  awakening  smiles  wherever  he  turn- 
ed his  steps,  the  mere  mental  disquietude  attending  the  ill 


ANTONlJfA;    OH,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  169 

success  of  his  intrusion  into  Numerian's  dwelling  was  as 
painful  in  its  influence  as  the  bitterest  remorse  that  could 
have  aftiicted  a  more  highly- principled  mind.  He  now, 
therefore,  instituted  the  search  after  Antonina,  and  express- 
ed his  contrition  to  her  father,  from  a  genuine  persuasion 
that  nothing  but  the  completes!  atonement  for  the  error  lie 
had  committed  could  restore  to  him  that  luxurious  tranquil- 
lity, the  loss  of  which  had,  as  he  had  himself  expressed  it, 
rendered  him  deaf  to  the  deliberations  of  the  Senate,  and  re- 
gardless of  the  invasion  of  the  Goths. 

"Tell  me,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause, "  whither  has  Ul- 
pius  betaken  himself?  It  is  necessary  that  he  should  be  dis- 
covered. He  may  enlighten  us  upon  the  place  of  Antonina's 
retreat.     He  shall  be  secured  and  questioned." 

"He  left  me  suddenly:  I  saw  him,  as  I  stood  at  the  win- 
dow, mix  with  the  multitude  in  the  street,  but  I  know  not 
whither  he  is  gone,"  replied  Numerian ;  and  a  tremor  pass- 
ed over  his  whole  frame  as  he  spoke  of  the  remorseless  Pa- 
gan. 

Again  there  was  a  short  silence.  The  grief  of  the  broken- 
spirited  father  possessed,  in  its  humility  and  despair,  a  voice 
of  rebuke  before  which  the  senator,  careless  and  profligate 
as  he  was,  instinctively  quailed.  For  some  time  he  endeav- 
ored in  vain  to  combat  the  silencing  and  reproving  influence 
exerted  over  him  by  the  very  presence  of  the  sorrowing  man 
whom  he  had  so  fatally  wronged.  At  length,  after  an  inter- 
val, he  recovered  self-possession  enough  to  address  to  Nu- 
merian some  further  expressions  of  consolation  and  hope ; 
but  he  spoke  to  ears  that  listened  not.  The  father  had  re- 
lapsed into  his  mournful  abstraction ;  and  when  the  senator 
paused,  he  merely  uttered  to  himself,  "  She  is  lost !  Alas ! 
she  is  lost  forever !" 

"  No,  she  is  not  lost  forever,"  cried  Vetranio,  warmly.  "  I 
have  wealth  and  power  enough  to  cause  her  to  be  sought  for 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth  !  Ulpius  shall  be  secured  and  ques- 
tioned— imprisoned,  tortured,  if  it  is  necessary.  Your  daugh- 
ter shall  be  recovered.  Nothing  is  impossible  to  a  senator 
of  Rome !" 

"I  knew  not  that  I  loved  her,  until  the  morning  when  I 
wronged  and  banished  her!"  continued  the  old  man,  still 
speaking  to  himself.     "  I  have  lost  all  traces  of  my  parents 

8 


170  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  eomk 

and  my  brother — my  wife  is  parted  from  me  forever — I  have 
nothing  left  but  Antonina ;  and  now,  too,  she  is  gone  !  Even 
my  ambition,  that  I  once  thought  my  all  in  all,  is  no  comfort 
to  my  soul ;  for  I  loved  it — alas  !  unconsciously  loved  it — 
through  the  being  of  my  child !  I  destroyed  her  lute — I 
thought  her  shameless — I  drove  her  from  my  doors !  Oh, 
how  I  wronged  her ! — how  I  wronged  her !" 

"  Remain  hei-e,  and  repose  yourself  in  one  of  the  sleeping 
apartments,  until  my  slaves  return  in  the  morning.  You 
will  then  hear  without  delay  of  the  result  of  their  search  to- 
night," said  Vetranio,  in  kindly  and  compassionate  tones. 

"  It  grows  dark — dark  !"  groaned  the  father,  tottering  to- 
ward the  door;  "but  that  is  nothing;  daylight  itself  now 
looks  darkness  to  me !  I  must  go ;  I  have  duties  at  the 
chapel  to  perform.  Night  is  repose  for  you — for  me,  it  is 
tribulation  and  prayer !" 

He  departed  as  he  spoke.  Slowly  he  paced  along  the 
streets  that  led  to  his  chapel,  glancing  with  penetrating  eye 
at  each  inhabitant  of  the  besieged  city  who  passed  him  on 
his  way.  With  some  difficulty  he  arrived  at  his  destination ; 
for  Rome  was  still  thronged  with  armed  men  hurrying  back- 
ward and  forward,  and  with  crowds  of  disorderly  citizens 
pouring  forth  wherever  there  was  space  enough  for  them  to 
assemble.  The  report  of  the  affliction  that  had  befallen  him 
had  already  gone  abroad  among  his  hearers,  and  they  whis- 
pered anxiously  to  each  other  as  he  entered  the  plain,  dimly- 
lighted  chapel,  and  slowly  mounted  the  pulpit  to  open  the 
service  by  reading  the  chapter  in  the  Bible  which  had  been 
appointed  for  perusal  that  night,  and  which  happened  to  be 
the  fifth  of-  the  Gospel  of  St.  Mark.  His  voice  trembled, 
his  face  was  ghastly  pale,  and  his  hands  shook  perceptibly 
as  he  began ;  but  he  read  on,  in  low,  broken  tones,  and  with 
evident  pain  and  difficulty,  until  he  came  to  the  verse  con- 
taining these  words:  "My  little  daughter  lieth  at  the  point 
of  death."  Here  he  stopped  suddenly,  endeavored  vainly 
for  a  few  minutes  to  proceed,  and  then,  covering  his  face 
with  his  hands,  sank  down  in  the  pulpit  and  sobbed  aloud. 
His  sorrowing  and  startled  atidience  immediately  gathered 
round  him,  raised  him  in  their  arms,  and  prepared  to  conduct 
him  to  his  own  abode.  When,  however,  they  had  gained 
the  door  of  the  chapel,  he  desired  them  gently  to  leave  him 


antonina:  or,  the  pall  op  rome.  171 

uud  lelurn  to  the  performance  of  the  service  among  them- 
selves. Ever  implicitly  obedient  to  his  slightest  wishes,  the 
persons  of  his  little  assembly,  moved  to  tears  by  the  sight 
of  their  teacher's  suffering,  obeyed  him,  by  retiring  silently 
to  their  former  places.  As  soon  as  he  found  that  he  was 
alone,  he  passed  the  door ;  and  whispering  to  himself,  "  I 
must  join  those  who  seek  her!  I  must  aid  them  myself  in 
the  search !"  he  mingled  once  more  with  the  disorderly  citi- 
zens who  thronged  the  darkened  streets. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  RIFT  IN  THE  WALL. 


When  Ulpius  suddenly  departed  from  Numerian's  house 
on  the  morning  of  the  siege,  it  was  with  no  distinct  inten- 
tion of  betaking  himself  to  any  particular  place,  or  devoting 
himself  to  any  immediate  employment.  It  was  to  give  vent 
to  his  joy — to  the  ecstasy  that  now  filled  his  heart  to  burst- 
ing— that  he  sought  the  open  streets.  His  whole  moral  be- 
ing was  exalted  by  that  overwhelming  sense  of  triumph, 
which  urges  the  physical  nature  into  action.  He  hurried 
into  the  free  air,  as  a  child  runs  on  a  bright  day  in  the  wide 
fields;  his  delight  was  too  wild  to  expand  under  a  roof; 
his  excess  of  bliss  swelled  irrepressibly  beyond  all  artificial 
limits  of  space. 

The  Goths  were  in  sight !  A  few  hours  more,  and  their 
scaling-ladders  would  be  planted  against  the  walls.  On  a 
city  so  weakly  guarded  as  Rome,  their  assault  must  be  al- 
most instantaneously  successful.  Thirsting  for  plunder,  they 
would  descend  in  infuriated  multitudes  on  the  defenseless 
streets.  Christians  though  they  were,  the  restraints  of  re- 
ligion would,  in  that  moment  of  fierce  triumph,  be  powerless 
with  such  a  nation  of  marauders  against  the  temptations  to 
pillage.  Churches  would  be  ravaged  and  destroyed  ;  priests 
would  be  murdered  in  attempting  the  defense  of  their  ec- 
clesiastical treasures  ;  fire  and  sword  would  waste  to  its  re- 
motest confines  the  stronghold  of  Cliristianity,  and  over- 
whelm in  death  and  oblivion  the  boldest  of  Christianity's 
devotees !  Then,  when  the  hurricaiie  of  ruin  and  crime  had 
passed  over  the  city — when  a  new  people  were  lipe  for  anoth- 


172  ANTONISTA^    OR,  THE   FALL   OP   ROME. 

er  government  and  another  religion — then  would  be  the  time 
to  invest  the  banished  gods  of  old  Home  with  their  former 
rule;  to  bid  the  survivors  of  the  stricken  multitude  remem- 
ber the  judgment  that  their  apostasy  to  their  ancient  faith 
had  demanded  and  incurred;  to  strike  the  very  remembrance 
of  the  Cross  out  of  the  memory  of  man ;  and  to  re-instate 
Paganism  on  her  throne  of  sacrifices,  and  under  her  roof  of 
gold,  more  powerful  from  her  past  persecutions,  more  uni- 
versal in  her  sudden  restoration,  tlian  in  all  the  glories  of 
her  ancient  rule ! 

Such  thoughts  as  these  passed  through  the  Pagan's  toil- 
ing mind  as,  unobservant  of  all  outward  events,  he  paced 
through  the  streets  of  the  beleaguered  city.  Already  he  be- 
held the  army  of  the  Goths  preparing  the  way,  as  the  un- 
conscious pioneers  of  the  returnhig  gods,  for  the  march  of 
that  mighty  revolution  which  he  was  determined  to  lead. 
The  warmth  of  his  past  eloquence,  the  glow  of  his  old  cour- 
age, thrilled  through  his  heart,  as  he  figured  to  himself  tlie 
prospect  that  would  soon  stretch  before  him  —  a  city  laid 
waste,  a  people  terrified,  a  government  distracted,  a  religion 
destroyed.  Then,  arising  amidst  this  darkness  and  ruin  — 
amidst  this  solitude,  desolation,  and  decay,  it  would  be  his 
glorious  privilege  to  summon  an  unfaithful  people  to  return 
to  the  mistress  of  their  ancient  love,  to  rise  from  prostration 
beneath  a  dismantled  church,  and  to  seek  prosperity  in  tem- 
ples repeopled  and  at  shrines  restored  ! 

All  remembrance  of  late  events  now  entirely  vanished 
from  his  mind.  Numerian,  Vetranio,  Antonina,  they  were 
all  forgotten  in  this  memorable  advent  of  the  Goths !  His 
slavery  in  the  mines,  his  last  visit  to  Alexandria,  his  earlier 
wanderings — even  these,  so  present  to  his  memory  until  the 
morning  of  the  siege,  were  swept  from  its  very  surface  now. 
Age,  solitude,  infirmity  —  hitherto  the  mournful  sensations 
which  were  proofs  to  him  that  he  still  continued  to  exist — 
suddenly  vanished  from  his  perceptions  as  things  that  were 
not;  and  now  at  length  he  forgot  that  he  was  an  outcast, 
and  remembered  triumphantly  that  he  was  still  a  priest. 
He  felt  animated  by  the  same  hopes,  elevated  by  the  same 
aspirations,  as  in  those  early  days  when  he  had  harangued 
the  wavering  Pagans  in  the  Temple,  and  first  plotted  the 
overthrow  of  the  Christian  Church. 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  173 

It  was  a  terrible  and  warning  proof  of  the  omnipotent  in- 
tiuenee  that  a  single  idea  may  exercise  over  a  whole  life,  to 
see  that  old  man  wandering  among  the  crowds  around  him, 
still  enslaved,  after  years  of  suffering  and  solitude,  degra- 
dation and  crime,  by  the  same  ruling  ambition  which  had 
crushed  the  promise  of  his  early  youth  !  It  was  an  awful 
testimony  to  the  eternal  and  mysterious  nature  of  thought, 
to  behold  that  wasted  and  weakened  frame;  and  then  to 
observe  how  the  unassailable  mind  within  still  swayed  the 
wreck  of  body  yet  left  to  it  —  how  fjiithfully  the  last  ex- 
hausted resources  of  failing  vigor  rallied  into  action  at  its 
fierce  command  —  how  quickly,  at  its  mocking  voice,  the 
sunken  eye  lightened  agaiii  with  a  gleam  of  hope,  and  the 
pale,  thin  lips  parted  mechanically  with  an  exulting  smile ! 

The  hours  passed,  but  he  still  walked  on  —  whither  or 
among  whom  he  neither  knew  nor  cared.  Xo  remorse 
touched  his  heart  for  the  destruction  that  he  had  wreaked 
on  the  Christian  who  had  sheltered  hira;  no  terror  appalled 
his  soul  at  the  contemplation  of  the  miseries  that  he  be- 
lieved to  be  in  preparation  for  the  city  from  the  enemy  at 
its  gates.  The  end  that  had  hallowed  to  him  the  long  se- 
ries of  his  former  offenses  and  former  sufferings,  now  obliter- 
ated iniquities  just  passed,  and  stripped  of  all  their  horrors 
atrocities  immediately  to  come. 

The  Goths  might  be  destroyers  to  others,  but  they  were 
benefactors  to  Inm;  for  they  were  harbingers  of  the  ruin 
which  would  be  the  material  of  his  reform  and  the  source 
of  his  triumph.  It  never  entered  his  imagination  that,  as 
an  inhabitant  of  Rome,  he  shared  the  approaching  perils  of 
the  citizens,  and  in  the  moment  of  the  assault  might  share 
their  doom.  He  beheld  only  the  new  and  gorgeous  pros- 
pect that  war  and  rapine  were  opening  befoie  him.  He 
thought  only  of  the  time  that  must  elapse  ere  his  new  ef- 
forts could  be  commenced  —  of  the  orders  of  the  people 
among  whom  he  should  successiveh'  make  his  voice  heard — 
of  the  temples  which  he  should  select  for  restoration — of  the 
quarter  of  Rome  which  should  first  be  chosen  for  the  recep- 
tion of  his  daring  reform. 

At  length  he  paused ;  his  exhausted  energies  yielded  un- 
der the  exertions  imposed  on  them,  nnd  ()blige<l  liim  to  V)e- 
think  himself  of  refreshment  and  repose.     It  was  now  noon. 


1 74  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

The  course  of  his  wanderings  had  insensibly  conducted  him 
again  to  the  precincts  of  his  old  familiar  dwelling-place ;  he 
found  himself  at  the  back  of  the  Pincian  Mount,  and  only- 
separated  by  a  strip  of  uneven  woody  ground  from  the  base 
of  the  city  wall.  The  place  was  very  solitary.  It  was  di- 
vided from  the  streets  and  mansions  above  by  thick  groves 
and  extensive  gardens,  which  stretched  along  the  undulat- 
ing descent  of  the  hill.  A  short  distance  to  the  westward 
lay  the  Pincian  Gate,  but  an  abrupt  turn  in  the  wall,  and 
some  olive-trees  which  grew  near  it,  shut  out  all  view  of  ob- 
jects in  that  direction.  On  the  other  side,  toward  the  east- 
ward, the  I'amparts  were  discernible,  running  in  a  straight 
line  of  some  length  until  they  suddenly  turned  inward  at  a 
right  angle,  and  were  concealed  from  further  observation  by 
the  walls  of  a  distant  palace  and  the  pine-trees  of  a  public 
garden.  The  only  living  figure  discernible  near  this  lonely 
spot  was  that  of  a  sentinel,  who  occasionally  passed  over  the 
ramparts  above,  which — situated  as  they  were  between  two 
stations  of  soldiery,  one  at  the  Pincian  Gate  and  the  other 
where  the  wall  made  the  angle  already  described  —  were 
untenanted,  save  by  the  guard  within  the  limits  of  whose 
watch  they  happened  to  be  placed.  Here,  for  a  short  space 
of  time,  the  Pagan  rested  his  weary  frame,  and  aroused  him- 
self insensibly  from  the  enthralling  meditations  which  had 
hitherto  blinded  him  to  the  troubled  aspect  of  the  world 
around  him. 

He  now  for  the  first  time  heard  on  all  sides  distinctly  the 
confused  noises  which  still  rose  from  every  quarter  of  Rome. 
The  same  incessant  strife  of  struggling  voices  and  hurrying 
footsteps  which  had  caught  his  ear  in  the  early  morning,  at- 
tracted his  attention  now ;  but  no  shrieks  of  distress,  no  clash 
of  weapons,  no  shouts  of  fury  and  defiance,  were  mingled 
with  them  ;  although,  as  he  perceived  by  the  position  of  the 
sun,  the  day  had  suflSciently  advanced  to  have  brought  the 
Gothic  army  long  since  to  the  foot  of  the  walls.  What  could 
be  the  cause  of  this  delay  in  the  assault — of  this  ominous 
tranquillity  on  the  ramparts  above  him?  Had  the  impetu- 
osity of  the  Goths  suddenly  vanished  at  the  sight  of  Rome  ? 
Had  negotiations  for  peace  been  organized  with  the  first  ap- 
pearance of  the  invaders?  He  listened  again.  No  sounds 
caught  his  ear  differing  in  character  from  those  he  had  just 


antoxina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  1V5 

heard.  Though  besieged,  the  city  was  evidently  —  from 
some  mysterious  cause — not  even  threatened  by  an  assault. 

Suddenly  there  appeared  from  a  little  pathway  near  him, 
which  led  round  the  base  of  the  wall,  a  woman,  preceded  by 
a  child,  who  called  to  her  impatiently,  as  he  ran  on,  "  Hasten, 
mother,  hasten  !  There  is  no  crowd  here.  Yonder  is  the 
Gate.     We  shall  have  a  noble  view  of  the  Goths !" 

There  was  something  in  the  address  of  the  child  to  the 
woman  that  gave  Ulpius  a  suspicion,  even  then,  of  the  dis- 
covery that  flashed  upon  him  soon  after.  He  rose  and  fol- 
lowed them.  They  passed  onward  by  the  wall,  through  the 
olive-trees  beyond,  and  then  gJiined  the  open  space  before 
the  Pincian  Gate.  Here  a  great  concourse  of  people  had  as- 
sembled, and  were  suffered,  in  their  proper  turn,  to  ascend 
the  ramparts  in  divisions,  by  some  soldiers  who  guarded  the 
steps  by  which  they  were  approached.  After  a  short  delay, 
Ulpius  and  those  around  him  were  permitted  to  gratify  their 
curiosity,  as  others  had  done  before  them.  They  mounted 
the  walls,  and  beheld,  stretched  over  the  ground  within  and 
beyond  the  suburbs,  the  vast  circumference  of  the  Gothic 
lines. 

Terrible  and  almost  sublime  as  was  the  prospect  of  that 
immense  multitude,  seen  under  the  brilliant  illumination  of 
the  noontide  sun,  it  wns  not  impressive  enough  to  silence 
the  turbulent  loquacity  rooted  in  the  dispositions  of  the  peo- 
ple of  Rome.  Men,  women,  and  children,  all  made  their 
noisy  and  conflicting  observations  on  the  sight  before  them, 
in  every  variety  of  tone,  from  the  tremulous  accents  of  ter- 
ror to  the  loud  vociferations  of  bravado. 

Some  spoke  boastfully  of  the  achievements  that  would  be 
performed  by  the  Romans,  when  their  expected  auxiliaries 
arrived  from  Ravenna.  Others  foreboded,  in  undissembled 
terror,  an  assault  under  cover  of  the  night.  Here,  a  group 
abused,  in  low,  confidential  tones,  the  policy  of  the  Govern- 
ment in  its  past  relations  with  the  Goths.  There,  a  compa- 
ny of  ragged  vagabonds  amused  tl^emselves  by  pompously 
confiding  to  each  other  their  positive  conviction  that  at  that 
very  moment  the  barbarians  must  be  trembling  in  their  camp 
at  the  mere  sight  of  the  all-powerful  Capital  of  the  World. 
In  one  direction,  people  were  heard  noisily  speculating 
whether  the  Goths  would  be  driven  from  the  walls  by  the 


1  76         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

soldiers  of  Rome,  or  be  honored  by  an  invitation  to  conclude 
a  peace  with  the  august  empire  which  they  had  so  treason- 
ably ventured  to  invade.  In  another,  the  more  sober  and 
reputable  among  the  spectators  audibly  expressed  their  ap- 
prehensions of  starvation,  dishonor,  and  defeat,  should  the 
authorities  of  the  city  be  foolhardy  enough  to  venture  a  re- 
sistance to  Alaric  and  his  barbarian  hosts.  But  wide  as  was 
the  difference  of  the  particular  opinions  hazarded  among  the 
citizens,  they  all  agreed  in  one  unavoidable  conviction,  that 
Rome  had  escaped  the  inmiediate  horrois  of  an  assault,  to  be 
threatened — if  unaided  by  the  legions  at  Ravenna — by  the 
prospective  miseries  of  a  blockade. 

Amidst  the  confusion  of  voices  around  him,  that  word 
"blockade"  alone  reached  the  Pagan's  ear.  It  brought  with 
it  a  flood  of  emotions  that  overwhelmed  him.  All  that  he 
saw,  all  that  he  heard,  connected  itself  imperceptibly  with 
that  expression,  A  sudden  darkness,  neither  to  be  dissipa- 
ted nor  escaped,  seemed  to  obscure  his  faculties  in  an  in- 
stant. He  struggled  mechanically  through  the  crowd,  de- 
scended the  steps  of  the  ramparts,  and  returned  to  the  soli- 
tary spot  where  he  had  first  beheld  the  woman  and  the 
child. 

The  city  was  blockaded  !  The  Goths  were  bent,  then,  on 
obtaining  a  peace,  and  not  on  achieving  a  conquest !  The 
city  was  blockaded!  It  was  no  error  of  the  ignorant  multi- 
tude— he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  the  tents  and  positions 
of  the  enemy — he  had  heard  the  soldiers  on  the  wall  discours- 
ing on  the  admirable  disposition  of  Alaric's  forces,  on  the 
impossibility  of  obtaining  the  smallest  communication  with 
the  surrounding  country,  on  the  vigilant  watch  that  had 
been  set  over  the  navigation  of  the  Tiber.  There  was  no 
doubt  on  the  matter — the  barbarians  had  determined  on  a 
blockade ! 

There  was  even  less  uncertainty  upon  the  results  which 
would  be  produced  by  this  unimaginable  policy  of  the  Goths 
— the  city  would  be  sav*d  !  Rome  had  not  scrupled  in  for- 
mer years  to  purchase  the  withdrawal  of  all  enemies  from 
her  distant  provinces ;  and,  now  that  the  very  centre  of  her 
glory,  the  very  pinnacle  of  her  declining  power,  was  threat- 
ened with  sudden  and  unexpected  ruin,  she  would  lavish  on 
the  Goths  the  treasures  of  the  whole  empire,  to  bribe  them 


ANTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  KOME.         177 

to  peace  and  to  tempt  them  to  retreat.  The  Senate  might 
possibly  dehiy  the  necessary  concessions,  from  hopes  of  as- 
sistance that  would  never  be  realized;  but  sooner  or  later 
the  hour  of  negotiation  would  arrive;  northern  rapacity 
would  be  satisfied  with  southern  wealth ;  and  in  the  very 
moment  when  it  seemed  inevitable,  the  ruin  from  which  the 
Pagan  revolution  was  to  derive  its  vigorous  source  would  be 
diverted  from  the  churches  of  Rome. 

Could  the  old  renown  of  the  Roman  name  have  retained 
so  much  of  its  ancient  influence  as  to  daunt  the  hardy  Goths, 
after  they  had  so  successfully  penetrated  the  empire  as  to 
have  reached  the  walls  of  its  vaunted  capital  ?  Could  Alaric 
have  conceived  so  exaggerated  an  idea  of  the  strength  of 
the  forces  in  the  city  as  to  despair,  with  all  his  multitudes, 
of  storuiing  it  with  success?  It  could  not  be  otherwise! 
No  other  consideration  could  have  induced  the  barbarian 
general  to  abandon  such  an  achievement  as  the  destruction 
of  Rome.  With  the  chance  of  an  assault,  the  prospects  of 
Paganism  had  brightened — with  the  certainty  of  a  blockade, 
they  sunk  immediately  into  disheartening  gloom ! 

Filled  with  these  thoughts,  Ulpius  paced  backward  and 
forward  in  his  solitary  retreat,  utterly  abandoned  by  the  ex- 
altation of  feeling  which  had  restored  to  his  faculties  in  the 
morning  the  long- lost  vigor  of  their  former  youth.  Once 
more  he  experienced  the  infirmities  of  his  age ;  once  more 
he  remembered  the  miseries  that  had  made  his  existence  one 
unending  martyrdom  ;  once  more  he  felt  the  presence  of  his 
ambition  within  him,  like  a  judgment  that  he  was  doomed 
to  welcome,  like  a  curse  that  he  was  created  to  cherish.  To 
say  that  his  sensations  at  this  moment  were  those  of  the  cul- 
prit who  hears  the  order  for  his  execution  when  he  had  been 
assured  of  a  reprieve,  is  to  convey  but  a  faint  idea  of  the 
fierce  emotions  of  rage,  grief,  and  despair  that  now^  united  to 
rend  the  Pagan's  heart. 

Overpowered  with  weariness  both  of  body  and  mind,  he 
flung  himself  down  under  the  shade  of  some  bushes. that 
clothed  the  base  of  the  wall  above  him.  As  he  lay  there — 
so  still  in  his  heavy  lassitude  that  life  itself  seemed  to  have 
left  him  —  one  of  the  long  green  lizards,  common  to  Italy, 
crawled  over  his  shoulder.  He  seized  the  animal— doiibtful 
for  the  moment  whether  it  might  not  be  of  the  poisonous 

8* 


178  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

species — and  examined  it.  At  the  first  glance  he  discovered 
that  it  was  of  the  harmless  order  of  its  race,  and  would  have 
flung  it  carelessly  from  him,  but  for  something  in  its  appear- 
ance which,  in  the  wayward  irritability  of  his  present  mood, 
he  felt  a  strange  and  sudden  pleasure  in  contemplating. 

Through  its  exquisitely  marked  and  transparent  skin  he 
could  perceive  the  action  of  the  creature's  heart,  and  saw 
that  it  was  beating  violently,  in  the  agony  of  fear  caused  to 
the  animal  by  its  imprisonment  in  his  hand.  As  he  looked 
on  it,  and  thought  how  continually  a  being  so  timid  must  be 
thwarted  in  its  humble  anxieties,  in  its  small  efforts,  in  its 
little  journeys  from  one  patch  of  grass  to  another,  by  a  hun- 
dred obstacles,  which,  trifles  though  they  might  be  to  ani- 
mals of  a  higher  species,  were  yet  of  fatal  importance  to 
creatures  constituted  like  itself,  he  began  to  find  an  imper- 
fect yet  remarkable  analogy  between  his  own  destiny  and 
that  of  this  small  unit  of  creation.  He  felt  that,  in  its  petty 
sphere,  the  short  life  of  the  humble  animal  before  him  must 
have  been  the  prey  of  crosses  and  disappointments  as  seri- 
ous to  it  as  the  more  severe  and  destructive  afliictions  of 
which  Ae,  in  his  existence,  had  been  the  victim ;  and  as  he 
watched  the  shadow-like  movement  of  the  little  fluttering 
heart  of  the  lizard,  he  experienced  a  cruel  pleasure  in  per- 
ceiving that  there  were  other  beings  in  the  creation,  even 
down  to  the  most  insignificant,  who  inherited  a  part  of  his 
misery,  and  suffered  a  portion  of  his  despair. 

Ere  long,  however,  his  emotions  took  a  sterner  and  a 
darker  hue.  The  sight  of  the  animal  wearied  him,  and  he 
flung  it  contemptuously  aside.  It  disappeared  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  ramparts;  and  almost  at  the  same  moment 
he  heard  a  slight  sound,  resembling  the  falling  of  several 
minute  particles  of  brick  or  light  stone,  which  seemed  to 
come  from  the  wall  behind  him. 

That  such  a  noise  should  proceed  from  so  massive  a  struc- 
ture appeared  unaccountable.  He  rose,  and,  parting  the 
bushes  before  him,  advanced  close  to  the  surface  of  the  lofty 
wall.  To  his  astonishment,  he  found  that  the  brick-work 
had  in  many  places  so  completely  mouldered  away  that  he 
could  move  it  easily  with  his  fingers.  The  cause  of  the 
trifling  noise  that  he  had  heard  was  now  fully  explained : 
hundreds  of  lizards  had  made  their  homes  between  the  fis- 


antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  kome.  179 

sures  of  the  bricks;  the  animal  that  he  had  permitted  to 
escape  had  taken  refuge  in  one  of  these  cavities,  and  in  the 
hurry  of  its  flight  had  detached  several  of  the  loose  crum- 
bling fragments  tliat  surrounded  its  hiding-place. 

Not  content,  however,  with  the  discovery  he  had  already 
made,  he  retired  a  little,  and,  looking  steadfastly  up  through 
some  trees  which  in  this  particular  place  grew  at  the  foot 
of  the  wall,  he  saw  that  its  surface  was  pierced  in  many 
places  by  great  irregular  rifts,  some  of  which  extended  near- 
ly to  its  whole  height.  In  addition  to  this,  he  perceived 
that  the  mass  of  the  structure  at  one  particular  point  leaned 
considerably  out  of  the  perpendicular.  Astounded  at  what 
he  beheld,  he  took  a  stick  from  the  ground,  and  inserting 
it  in  one  of  the  lowest  and  smallest  of  the  cracks,  easily  suc- 
ceeded in  forcing  it  entirely  into  the  wall,  part  of  which 
seemed  to  be  hollow,  and  part  composed  of  the  same  rotten 
brick-work  which  had  at  first  attracted  his  attention. 

It  was  now  evident  that  the  whole  structure,  over  a 
breadth  of  several  yards,  had  been  either  weakly  and  care- 
lessly built,  or  had  at  some  former  period  suffered  a  sudden 
and  violent  shock.  He  left  the  stick  in  the  wall  to  mark 
the  place,  and  was  about  to  retire,  when  he  heard  the  foot- 
step of  the  sentinel  on  the  rampart  immediately  above. 
Suddenly  cautious,  though  from  what  motive  he  would  have 
been  at  that  moment  hardly  able  to  explain,  he  remained  in 
the  concealment  of  the  trees  and  bushes  until  the  guard  had 
passed  onward;  then  he  cautiously  emerged  from  the  place, 
and,  retiring  to  some  distance,  fell  into  a  train  of  earnest 
and  absorbing  thought. 

To  account  to  the  reader  for  the  phenomenon  which  now 
engrossed  the  Pagan's  attention,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
make  a  brief  digression  to  the  history  of  the  walls  of  Rome. 

The  circumference  of  the  first  fortifications  of  the  city, 
built  by  Romulus,  was  thirteen  miles.  The  greater  part, 
however,  of  this  large  area  was  occupied  by  fields  and  gar- 
dens, which  it  was  the  object  of  the  founder  of  the  empire 
to  preserve,  for  arable  purposes,  from  the  incursions  of  the 
different  enemies  by  whom  he  was  threatened  from  without. 
As  Rome  gradually  increased  in  size,  its  walls  were  progress- 
ively enlarged  and  altered  by  subsequent  rulers.  But  it 
was  not  until  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Aurelian  (a.d.  270) 


1 80  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

that  any  extraordinary  or  important  change  was  effected 
in  the  defenses  of  the  city.  That  potentate  coniraenced  the 
erection  of  walls,  twenty-one  miles  in  circumference,  which 
were  finally  completed  in  the  reign  of  Probus  (a.d.  2V6),  were 
restored  by  Belisarius  (a.d.  537),  and  are  to  be  seen  in  de- 
tached portions  in  the  fortifications  of  the  modern  city  to 
the  present  day. 

At  the  date  of  our  story,  then  (a.d.  408),  the  walls  remain- 
ed precisely  as  thej^  had  been  constructed  in  the  reigns  of 
Aurelian  and  Probus.  They  were  for  the  most  part  made 
of  brick;  and  in  a  few  places,  probably,  a  sort  of  soft  sand- 
stone might  have  been  added  to  the  pervading  material. 
At  several  points  in  their  circumference,  and  particularly 
in  the  part  behind  the  Pincian  Hill,  these  walls  were  built 
in  arches,  forming  deep  recesses,  and  occasionally  disposed 
in  double  rows.  The  method  of  building  employed  in  their 
erection  was  generally  that  mentioned  by  Vitruvius,  in 
whose  time  it  originated,  as  "opus  reticulatum." 

The  "opus  reticulatum  "  was  composed  of  small  bricks  (or 
stones)  set  together  on  their  angles,  instead  of  horizontally, 
and  giving  the  surface  of  a  wall  the  appearance  of  a  sort  of 
solid  net-work.  This  was  considered  by  some  architects  of 
antiquity  a  perishable  mode  of  construction  ;  and  Vitruvius 
asserts  that  some  buiklings  where  he  had  seen  it  used  had 
fallen  down.  From  the  imperfect  specimens  of  it  which  re- 
main in  modern  times,  it  would  be  difficult  to  decide  upon 
its  merits.  That  it  was  assuredly  insufficient  to  support 
the  weight  of  the  bank  of  the  Pincian  Mount  which  rose 
immediately  behind  it,  in  the  solitary  spot  described  some 
pages  back,  is  still  made  evident  by  the  appearance  of  the 
wall  at  that  part  of  the  city,  which  remains  in  modern  times 
bent  out  of  the  perpendicular,  and  cracked  in  some  places 
almost  from  top  to  bottom.  This  ruin  is  now  known  to  the 
present  race  of  Italians  under  the  expressive  title  of  "II 
Muro  Torto,"  or.  The  Crooked  Wall. 

We  may  here  observe  that  it  is  extremely  improbable 
that  the  existence  of  this  natural  breach  in  the  fortifications 
of  Rome  was  noticed,  or  if  noticed,  regarded  with  the  slight- 
est anxiety  or  attention  by  the  majority  of  the  careless  and 
indolent  inhabitants,  at  the  period  of  the  present  romance. 
It  is  supposed  to  have  been  visible  as  early  as  the  time  of 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  181 

Aurelian,  but  is  only  particularly  mentioned  by  Procopius, 
a  historian  of  the  sixth  century,  who  relates  that  Belisarius, 
in  strengthening  the  city  against  a  siege  of  the  Goths,  at- 
tempted to  repair  this  weak  point  in  the  wall,  but  was  hin- 
dered in  his  intended  labor  by  the  devout  populace,  who  de- 
clared that  it  was  under  the  peculiar  protection  of  St.  Peter, 
and  that  it  would  be  consequently  impious  to  meddle  with 
it.  The  general  submitted  without  remonstrance  to  the  de- 
cision of  the  inhabitants,  and  found  no  cause  afterward  to 
repent  of  his  facility  of  compliance;  for,  to  use  the  trans- 
lated words  of  the  writer  above  mentioned,  "During  the 
siege  neither  the  enemy  nor  the  Romans  regarded  this 
place."  It  is  to  be  supposed  that  so  extraordinary  an  event 
as  this  gave  the  wall  that  sacred  character  which  deterred 
subsequent  rulers  from  attempting  its  repair;  which  permit- 
ted it  to  remain  crooked  and  rent  through  the  convulsions 
of  the  Middle  Ages ;  and  which  still  preserves  it,  to  attest 
the  veracity  of  historians,  by  appealing  to  the  antiquarian 
curiosity  of  the  traveler  of  modern  times. 

We  now  return  to  Ulpius.  It  is  a  peculiarity  observable 
in  the  characters  of  men  living  under  the  ascendency  of  one 
ruling  idea,  that  they  intuitively  distort  whatever  attracts 
their  attention  in  the  outer  world,  into  a  connection  more  or 
less  intimate  with  the  single  object  of  their  mental  contem- 
plation. Since  the  time  when  he  had  been  exiled  from  the 
Temple,  the  Pagan's  faculties  had,  unconsciously  to  himself, 
acted  solely  in  reference  to  the  daring  design  which  it  was 
the  business  of  his  whole  existence  to  entertain.  Influenced, 
therefore,  by  this  obliquity  of  moral  feeling,  he  had  scarcely 
reflected  on  the  discovery  that  he  had  just  made  at  the  base 
of  the  city  wall,  ere  his  mind  instantly  reverted  to  the  am- 
bitious meditations  which  had  occupied  it  in  the  morning ; 
and  the  next  moment,  the  fii'st  dawning  conception  of  a  bold 
and  penlous  project  began  to  absorb  his  restless  thoughts. 

He  reflected  on  the  peculiarities  and  position  of  the  wall 
before  him.  Although  the  widest  and  most  important  of 
the  rents  which  he  had  observed  in  it  existed  too  near  the 
rampart  to  be  reached  without  tlie  assistance  of  a  ladder, 
there  were  others  as  low  as  the  ground,  which  he  knew,  by 
the  result  of  the  trial  he  had  already  made,  might  be  suc- 
cessfully and  iiuraensely  widened  by  the  most  ordinary  ex- 


182  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

ertion  and  perseverance.  The  interior  of  the  wall,  if  judged 
by  the  condition  of  the  surface,  could  offer  no  insuperable 
obstacles  to  an  attempt  at  penetration  so  partial  as  to  be 
limited  to  a  height  and  width  of  a  few  feet.  The  ramparts, 
from  their  position  between  two  guard-houses,  would  be  un- 
incumbered by  an  inquisitive  populace.  The  sentinel,  with- 
in the  limits  of  whose  allotted  watch  it  happened  to  fall, 
would,  when  night  came  on,  be  the  only  human  being  likely 
to  pass  the  spot ;  and  at  such  an  hour  his  attention  must 
necessarily  be  fixed — in  the  circumstances  under  which  the 
city  was  now  placed — on  the  prospect  beyond,  rather  than 
on  the  ground  below  and  behind  him.  It  seemed,  therefore, 
almost  a  matter  of  certainty,  that  a  cautious  man  laboring 
under  cover  of  the  night,  might  pursue  whatever  investiga- 
tions he  pleased  at  the  base  of  the  wall. 

He  examined  the  ground  where  he  now  stood.  Nothing 
could  be  more  lonely  than  its  present  appearance.  The  pri- 
vate gardens  on  the  hill  above  it  shut  out  all  communication 
from  that  quarter.  It  could  only  be  approached  by  the 
foot-path  that  ran  round  the  Pincian  Mount  and  along  the 
base  of  the  walls.  In  the  state  of  affairs  now  existing  in  the 
city,  it  was  not  probable  that  any  one  would  seek  this  soli- 
tary place,  whence  nothing  could  be  seen,  and  where  little 
could  be  heard,  in  preference  to  mixing  with  the  spirit-stir- 
ring confusion  in  the  streets,  or  observing  the  Gothic  en- 
campment from  such  positions  on  the  ramparts  as  were  eas- 
ily attainable  to  all.  In  addition  to  the  secrecy  offered  by 
the  loneliness  of  this  patch  of  ground  to  whatever  employ- 
ments were  undertaken  on  it,  was  the  further  advantage 
afforded  by  the  trees  and  thickets  which  covered  its  lower 
end,  and  which  would  effectually  screen  an  intruder,  during 
the  darkness  of  night,  from  the  most  penetrating  observa- 
tion directed  from  the  wall  above. 

Reflecting  thus,  he  doubted  not  that  a  cunning  and  deter- 
mined man  might  with  impunity  so  far  widen  any  one  of 
the  inferior  breaches  in  the  lower  part  of  the  wall  as  to 
make  a  cavity  large  enough  to  admit  a  human  figure,  that 
should  pierce  to  its  outer  surface,  and  aftbrd  that  liberty  of 
departing  from  the  city  and  penetrating  the  Gothic  camp 
which  the  closed  gates  now  denied  to  all  the  inhabitants 
alike.     To  discover  the  practicability  of  such  an  attempt  as 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  pome.  183 

this  was,  to  a  mind  filled  with  such  aspirations  as  the  Pa- 
gan's, to  determine  irrevocably  on  its  immediate  execution. 
He  resolved  as  soon  as  night  approached  to  begin  his  labors 
on  the  wall ;  to  seek — if  the  breach  were  made  good,  and 
the  darkness  favored  liim — the  tent  of  Alaric;  and  once  ar- 
rived there,  to  acquaint  the  Gothic  king  with  the  weakness 
of  the  materials  for  defense  within  the  city,  and  the  di- 
lapidated condition  of  the  fortifications  below  the  Pincian 
Mount,  insisting,  as  the  condition  of  his  treachery,  on  an  as- 
surance from  the  barbarian  leader  (which  he  doubted  not 
would  be  gladly  and  instantly  accorded)  of  the  destruction 
of  the  Christian  churches,  the  pillage  of  the  Christian  pos- 
sessions, and  the  massacre  of  the  Christian  priests. 

He  retired  cautiously  from  the  lonely  place  that  had  now 
become  the  centre  of  his  new  hopes,  and,  entering  the  streets 
of  the  city,  proceeded  to  provide  himself  with  an  instrument 
that  would  facilitate  his  approaching  labors,  and  food  that 
would  give  him  strength  to  prosecute  his  intended  efforts, 
unthrcatened  by  the  hinderance  of  fatigue.  As  he  thought 
on  the  daring  treachery  of  his  project,  his  morning's  exulta- 
tion began  to  return  to  him  again.  All  his  previous  at- 
tempts to  organize  the  restoration  of  Paganism  sunk  into 
sudden  insignificance  before  his  present  design.  His  defense 
of  the  Temple  of  Serapis,  his  conspiracy  at  Alexandria,  liis 
intrigue  with  Vetranio,  were  the  efforts  of  a  man ;  but  this 
projected  destruction  of  the  priests,  the  churches,  and  the 
treasures  of  a  whole  city,  through  the  agency  of  a  mighty 
army,  moved  by  the  unaided  machinations  of  a  single  indi- 
vidual, would  be  the  dazzling  achievement  of  a  god  ! 

The  hours  loitered  slowly  onward.  The  sun  weaned  in  the 
gorgeous  heaven,  and  set,  surrounded  by  red  and  murky 
clouds.  Then  came  silence  and  darkness.  The  Gothic  watch- 
fires  flamed  one  by  one  into  the  dusky  air.  The  guards  were 
doubled  at  the  different  posts.  The  populace  were  driven 
from  the  ramparts,  and  the  fortifications  of  the  great  city 
echoed  to  no  sound  now  but  the  tramp  of  the  restless  senti- 
nel, or  the  clash  of  arms  from  the  distant  guard-houses  that 
dotted  the  long  line  of  the  lofty  walls. 

It  was  then  that  Ulpius,  passing  cautiously  along  the 
least  frequented  streets,  gained  unnoticed  the  place  of  his 
destinatioq.     A  thick  vapor  lay  over  the  lonely  and  marshy 


184  antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  kome. 

spot.  Nothing  was  now  visible  from  it  but  the  dim,  uncer- 
tain outline  of  the  palaces  above,  and  the  mass,  so  sunk  in 
obscurity  that  it  looked  like  a  dark  layer  of  mist  itself,  of 
the  rifted  fortifications.  A  smile  of  exultation  passed  over 
the  Pagan's  countenance,  as  he  perceived  the  shrouding  and 
welcome  thickness  of  the  atmosphere.  Groping  his  way 
softly  through  the  thickets,  he  arrived  at  the  base  of  the 
wall.  For  some  time  he  passed  slowly  along  it,  feeling  the 
width  of  the  different  rents  wherever  he  could  stretch  his 
hand.  At  length  he  paused  at  one  more  extensive  than  the 
rest,  drew  from  its  concealment  in  his  garments  a  thick  bar 
of  iron  sharpened  at  one  end,  and  began  to  labor  at  the 
breach. 

Chance  had  led  him  to  the  place  best  adapted  to  his  pur- 
pose. The  ground  he  stood  on  was  only  encumbei'ed  close 
to  the  wall  by  rank  weeds  and  low  thickets,  and  was  princi- 
pally composed  of  damp,  soft  turf  The  bricks,  therefore,  as 
lie  carefully  detached  them,  made  no  greater  noise  in  falling 
than  the  slight  rustling  caused  by  their  sudden  contact  with 
the  boughs  through  which  they  descended.  Insignificant  as 
this  sound  was,  it  aroused  the  apprehension  of  the  wary 
Pagan.  He  laid  down  his  iron  bar,  and  removed  the  thick- 
ets, by  dragging  them  up  or  breaking  them  at  the  roots, 
until  he  had  cleared  a  space  of  some  feet  in  extent  before 
the  base  of  the  wall.  He  then  returned  to  his  toilsome  task, 
and  with  hands  bleeding  from  the  wounds  inflicted  by  the 
thorns  he  had  grasped  in  removing  the  thickets,  continued 
his  labor  at  the  brick-work.  He  pursued  his  employment 
with  perfect  impunity;  the  darkness  covered  him  from  ob- 
servation; no  one  disturbed  him  by  approaching  the  soli- 
tary scene  of  his  operations;  and  of  the  two  sentinels  who 
were  placed  near  the  part  of  the  wall  which  was  the  centre 
of  all  his  exertions,  one  remained  motionless  at  the  most  dis- 
tant extremity  of  his  post,  and  the  other  paced  restlessly 
backward  and  forward  on  the  rampart,  singing  a  wild,  ram- 
bling song  about  war,  and  women,  and  wine,  which,  what- 
ever liberty  it  might  allow  to  his  organs  of  perception,  ef- 
fectually hindered  the  vigilant  exercise  of  his  faculties  of 
hearing. 

Brick  after  brick  yielded  to  the  vigorous  and  well-timed 
efforts  of  Ulpius.     He  had  already  made  a  cavity,  in  an  ob- 


antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome.  185 

liqiie  direction,  large  enough  to  creep  through,  and  was  pre- 
paring to  penetrate  still  farther,  when  a  portion  of  the  rotten 
material  of  the  interior  of  the  wall  suddenly  yielded  in  a 
mass  to  a  chance  pressure  of  his  iron  bar,  and  slowly  sunk 
down  inward  into  a  bed  which,  judging  by  such  faint  sounds 
as  were  audible  at  the  moment,  must  have  been  partly  water, 
and  partly  marshy  earth  and  rotten  brick-work.  After  hav- 
ing first  listened,  to  be  sure  that  the  slight  noise  caused  by 
this  event  had  not  reached  the  ears  or  excited  the  suspi- 
cions of  the  careless  sentinels,  Ulpius  crept  into  the  cavity 
he  had  made,  groping  his  way  with  his  bar,  until  he  reached 
the  brink  of  a  chasm,  the  depth  of  which  he  could  not  probe, 
and  the  breadth  of  which  he  could  not  ascertain. 

He  lingered  irresolute;  the  darkness  around  him  was  im- 
penetrable; he  could  feel  toads  and  noisome  animals  crawl- 
ing over  his  limbs.  The  damp  atmosphere  of  the  place  be- 
gan to  thrill  through  him  to  his  very  bones;  his  whole  frame 
trembled  under  the  excess  of  his  past  exertions.  Without 
light,  he  could  neither  attempt  to  proceed,  nor  Tiope  to  dis- 
cover the  size  and  extent  of  the  chasm  which  he  had  partial- 
ly laid  open.  The  mist  was  fast  vanishing  as  the  ijight  ad- 
vanced;  it  was  necessary  to  arrive  at  a  resolution  ere  it 
would  be  too  late. 

He  crept  out  of  the  cavity.  Just  as  he  had  gained  the 
open  air,  the  sentinel  halted  over  the  very  spot  where  the 
Pagan  stood,  and  paused  suddenly  in  his  song.  There  was 
an  instant's  interval  of  silence,  during  which  the  inmost  soul 
of  Ulpius  quailed  beneath  an  apprehension  as  vivid  as  that 
which  had  throbbed  in  the  heart  of  the  despised  lizard,  whose 
flight  had  guided  him  to  his  discovery  at  the  wall.  Soon, 
however,  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  soldier  calling  cheerfully 
to  his  fellow-sentinel,  "Comrade,  do  you  see  the  moon?  She 
is  rising  to  cheer  our  watch." 

Xothing  had  been  discovered  ! — he  was  still  safe  !  But  if 
he  staid  at  the  cavity  till  the  mists  faded  before  the  nfoon- 
light,  could  he  be  certain  of  preserving  his  security  !  He  felt 
that  he  could  not ! 

What  mattered  a  night  more  or  a  night  less,  to  such  a 
project  as  his?  ^Months  might  elapse  before  the  Goths  re- 
tired from  the  walls.  It  was  better  to  suffer  delay  than  to 
risk  discovery.     He  determined  to  leave  the  place,  and  to 


186  antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

return  on  the  following  night  provided  with  a  lantern,  the 
light  of  which  he  would  conceal  until  he  entered  the  cav- 
ity. '  Once  there,  it  could  not  be  perceived  by  the  sentinels 
above — it  would  guide  hira  through  all  obstacles,  preserve 
him  through  all  dangers.  Massive  as  it  w' as,  he  felt  convinced 
that  the  interior  of  the  wall  was  in  as  ruinous  a  condition  as 
the  outside.  Caution  and  perseverance  were  sufficient  of 
themselves  to  insure  to  his  efforts  the  speediest  and  com- 
pletest  success. 

He  waited  until  the  sentinel  had  again  betaken  himself  to 
the  farthest  limits  of  his  watch,  and  then  softly  gathering  up 
the  brush-wood  that  lay  round  him,  he  concealed  with  it  the 
mouth  of  the  cavity  in  the  outer  wall,  and  the  fragments  of 
brick-work  that  had  fallen  on  the  turf  beneath.  This  done, 
he  again  listened,  to  assure  himself  that  he  had  been  unob- 
served ;  then,  stepping  with  the  utmost  caution,  he  departed 
by  the  path  that  led  round  the  slope  of  the  Pincian  Hill. 

"Strength — patience — and  to-morrow  night!"  muttered 
the  Pagan  to  himself,  as  he  entered  the  streets,  and  congre- 
gated once  more  with  the  citizens  of  Rome. 


CHAPTER  XL 

goisvintha's  return. 


It  was  morning.  The  sun  had  risen,  but  his  beams  were 
partially  obscured  by  thick  heavy  clouds,  which  scowled  al- 
ready over  the  struggling  brightness  of  the  eastern  horizon. 
The  bustle  and  animation  of  the  new  day  gradually  over- 
spread the  Gothic  encampment  in  all  directions.  The  only 
tent  whose  curtain  remained  still  closed,  and  round  which 
no  busy  crowds  congregated  in  discussion  or  mingled  in 
labor,  was  that  of  Hermanric.  By  the  dying  embers  of  his 
watch-fire  stood  the  young  chieftain,  with  two  warriors,  to 
whom  he  appeared  to  be  giving  some  hurried  directions. 
His  countenance  expressed  emotions  of  anxiety  and  discon- 
tent, which,  though  partially  repressed  while  he  w^as  in  the 
presence  of  his  companions,  became  thoroughly  visible,  not 
only  in  his  features,  but  in  his  manner,  when  they  left  him  to 
watch  alone  before  his  tent. 


antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome.  187 

For  some  time  he  walked  regularly  backward  and  forward, 
looking  anxiously  down  the  westward  lines  of  the  encamp- 
ment, and  occasionally  whispering  to  himself  a  hasty  ex- 
clamation of  doubt  and  impatience.  With  the  first  breath 
of  the  new  morning,  the  delighting  meditations  which  had 
occupied  him  by  his  watch-fire  during  the  darkness  of  the 
nio;ht  had  begun  to  subside.  And  now,  as  the  hour  of  her 
expected  return  gradually  approached,  the  image  of  Gois- 
vintha  banished  from  his  mind  whatever  remained  of  those 
peaceful  and  happy  contemplations  in  which  he  had  hitherto 
been  absorbed.  The  more  he  thought  on  his  fatal  promise 
— on  the  nation  of  Antonina — on  his  duties  to  the  army  and 
the  people  to  whom  he  belonged,  the  more  doubtful  appear- 
ed to  him  his  chance  of  permanently  protecting  the  young 
Roman  without  risking  his  degradation  as  a  Goth  and  his 
ruin  as  a  warrior;  and  the  more  sternly  and  ominously  rang 
in  his  ears  the  unassailable  truth  of  Goisvintha's  parting 
taunt — "  You  must  remember  your  promise ;  you  can  not 
sav<j  her  if  you  would  !" 

Wearied  of  persisting  in  deliberations  which  only  deep- 
ened his  melancholy  and  increased  his  doubts ;  bent  on  sink- 
ing in  a  temporary  and  delusive  oblivion  the  boding  reflec- 
tions that  overcame  him  in  spite  of  himself,  by  seeking — 
while  its  enjoyment  was  yet  left  to  him — the  society  of  his 
ill-fated  charge,  he  turned  toward  his  tent,  drew  aside  the 
thick,  heavy  curtains  of  skins  which  closed  its  opening,  and 
approached  the  rude  couch  on  which  Antonina  was  still 
sleeping. 

A  ray  of  sunlight,  fitful  and  struggling,  burst  at  this  mo- 
ment through  the  heavy  clouds,  and  stole  into  the  opening 
of  the  tent  as  he  contemplated  the  slumbering  girl.  It  ran 
its  flowing  course  up  her  uncovered  hand  and  arm,  flew  over 
her  bosom  and  neck,  and  bathed  in  a  bright,  fresh  glow  her 
still  and  reposing  features.  Gradually  her  limbs  began  to 
move,  her  lips  parted  gently  and  half  smiled,  as  if  in  wel- 
come to  the  greeting  of  the  light ;  her  eyes  slightly  opened, 
then,  dazzled  by  the  brightness  that  flowed  through  their 
raised  lids,  tremblingly  closed  again.  At  length  thoroughly 
awakened,  she  shaded  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  sitting 
lip  on  the  couch,  met  the  gaze  of  Hermauric  fixed  on  her  in 
sorrowful  examination. 


188  antoxina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

"Your  bright  armor,  and  youf  glorious  name,  and  your 
merciful  words,  have  remained  with  me  even  in  my  sleep," 
said  she,  wonderingly ;  "  and  now,  when  I  awake,  I  see  you 
before  me  again !  It  is  a  happiness  to  be  aroused  by  the 
sun  which  has  gladdened  me  all  my  life,  to  look  upon  yon 
who  have  given  me  shelter  in  my  distress !  But  why,"  she 
continued,  in  altered  and  inquiring  tones,  "  why  do  you  gaze 
upon  me  with  doubting  and  mournful  eyes?" 

"  You  have  slept  well  and  safclj^"  said  Hermanric,  eva- 
sively. "  I  closed  the  opening  of  the  tent  to  preserve  you 
from  the  night-damps,  but  I  have  raised  it  now,  for  the  air  is 
wai'ming  under  the  rising  sun — " 

"Are  you  wearied  with  watching?"  she  interrupted,  ris- 
ing to  her  feet  and  looking  anxiously  into  his  face.  But  he 
spoke  not  in  reply.  His  head  was  turned  toward  the  door 
of  the  tent.  He  seemed  to  be  listening  for  some  expected 
sound.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  not  heard  her  question. 
She  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes.  The  sight  of  the 
great  city,  half  brightened,  half  darkened,  as  its  myriad 
buildings  reflected  the  light  of  the  sun,  or  retained  the  shad 
ows  of  the  clouds,  brought  back  to  her  remembrance  her  last 
night's  petition  for  her  father's  safety.  She  laid  her  hand 
upon  her  companion's  arm  to  awaken  his  attention,  and  has- 
tily resumed : 

"You  have  not  forgotten  what  I  said  to  you  last  night? 
My  father's  name  is  Numerian.  He  lives  on  the  Pincian 
Mount.  You  will  save  him,  Hermanric — you  will  save  him  ! 
You  will  remember  your  promise  !" 

The  young  warrior's  eyes  fell  as  she  spoke,  and  an  irre- 
pressible shudder  shook  his  whole  frame.  The  last  part  of 
Antonina's  address  to  him  was  expressed  in  the  same  terms 
as  a  past  appeal  from  other  lips,  and  in  other  accents,  which 
still  clung  to  his  memory.  The  same  demand,  ^^ Remember 
your  promise^''  which  had  been  advanced  to  urge  him  to 
bloodshed,  by  Goisvintha,  was  now  proflfered  by  Antonina 
to  lure  him  to  pity.  The  petition  of  affection  was  concluded 
in  the  same  terms  as  the  petition  of  revenge.  As  he  thought 
on  both,  the  human  pity  of  the  one,  and  the  fiend-like  cruelty 
of  the  otlier,  rose  in  sinister  and  significant  contrast  on  the 
mind  of  the  Goth,  realizing  in  all  its  perils  the  struggle 
that  was  to  come  when  Goisvintha  returned,  and  dispelling 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL   OF   ROME.  189 

iiistaiilaiieously  the  last  Kopes  that  he  had  yet  ventured  to 
chei-Uh  for  the  fugitive  at  his  side. 

"  No  assault  of  the  city  is  commanded — no  assault  is  in- 
tended. Your  father's  life  is  safe  from  the  swords  of  the 
Goths,"  he  gloomily  replied,  in  answer  to  Antonina's  last 
words. 

The  girl  moved  back  from  him  a  few  steps  as  he  spoke, 
and  looked  thouglitfully  round  the  tent.  The  battle-axe 
that  Hermanric  had  secured  during  the  scene  of  the  past 
evening  still  lay  on  the  ground  in  a  corner.  The  sight  of  it 
brought  back  a  flood  of  terrible  recollections  to  her  mind. 
She  started  violently;  a  sudden  change  overspread  her  fea- 
tures, and  when  she  again  addressed  Hermani'ic,  it  was  with 
quivering  lips  and  in  almost  inarticulate  words. 

"I  know  now  why  you  look  on  me  so  gloomily,"  said  she; 
"  that  woman  is  coming  back !  I  was  so  occupied  by  my 
dreams  and  my  thoughts  of  my  father  and  of  you,  and  my 
hopes  for  days  to  come,  that  I  had  forgotten  her  when  I 
awoke.  But  I  remember  all  now  !  She  is  coming  back — I 
see  it  in  your  sorrowful  eyes — she  is  coming  back  to  murder 
me  !  I  shall  die  at  the  moment  when  I  had  such  hope  in  my 
life  !     There  is  no  happiness  for  me  !     None  ! — none  !" 

The  Goth's  countenance  began  to  darken.  He  wiiispered 
to  himself  several  times,  "How  can  I  save  her?"  For  a  few 
minutes  there  was  a  deep  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sobs 
of  Antonina.  He  looked  round  at  her  after  an  interval.  She 
held  her  hands  clasped  over  her  eyes.  The  tears  were  stream- 
ing through  her  parted  fingers,  her  bosom  heaved  as  if  her 
emotions  would  burst  their  way  through  it  in  some  palpable 
form,  and  her  limbs  trembled  so  that  she  could  scarcely 
support  herself.  Unconsciously,  as  he  looked  on  her,  he 
passed  his  arm  round  her  slender  form,  drew  her  hands  gen- 
tly from  her  face,  and  said  to  her,  though  his  lieart  belied  his 
words  as  he  spoke,  "  Do  not  be  afraid — trust  in  me  !" 

"How  can  I  be  calm?"  she  cried,  looking  up  at  him  en- 
treatingly;  "I  was  so  happy  last  night,  so  sure  that  you 
could  preserve  me,  so  hopeful  about  to-morrow  !  and  now  I 
see  by  your  mournful  looks,  I  know  by  your  doubting  voice, 
that  to  soothe  my  anguish  you  have  promised  me  more  than 
you  can  perform  !  The  woman  who  is  your  companion  has  a 
power  over  us  both  that  it  is  terrible  even  to  think  of!    She 


190  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  bome. 

will  return,  she  will  withdraw  all  mercy  from  your  heart,  she 
will  glare  upon  me  with  her  fearful  eyes,  she  will  kill  me  at 
your  feet !  I  shall  die  after  all  I  have  suffered  and  all  I  have 
hoped !  Oh,  Hermanric,  while  there  is  yet  time  let  us  es- 
cape !  You  were  not  made  to  shed  blood — i/ou  are  too  mer- 
ciful !  God  never  made  you  to  destroy  !  You  can  not  yearn 
toward  cruelty  and  woe,  for  you  have  aided  and  protected 
me/  Let  us  escape !  I  will  follow  you  wherever  you  wish  ! 
I  will  do  whatever  you  ask !  I  will  go  with  you  beyond 
those  far,  bright  mountains  behind  us,  to  any  strange  and 
distant  land;  for  there  is  beauty  everywhere;  there  are 
woods  that  may  be  dwelt  in,  and  valleys  that  may  be  loved, 
on  all  the  surface  of  this  wide,  great  earth  !" 

The  Goth  looked  sadly  on  her  as  she  paused  ;  but  he  gave 
her  no  answer — the  gloom  was  deepening  over  his  heart — 
the  false  words  of  consolation  were  silenced  on  his  lips. 

"Think  how  many  pleasures  we  should  enjoy,  how  much 
we  might  see !"  continued  the  girl,  in  soft,  appealing  tones. 
"  We  should  be  free  to  wander  wherever  we  pleased ;  we 
should  never  be  lonely ;  never  be  mournful ;  never  be  wea- 
ried !  I  could  listen  to  you  day  after  day,  while  you  told 
me  of  the  country  where  your  people  were  born !  I  could 
sing  you  sweet  songs  that  I  have  learned  upon  the  lute ! 
Oh,  how  I  have  wept  in  my  loneliness  to  lead  such  a  life 
as  this !  How  I  have  longed  that  such  freedom  and  joy 
might  be  mine !  How  I  have  thought  of  the  distant  lands 
that  I  would  visit,  of  the  happy  nations  that  I  would  dis- 
cover, of  the  mountain  breezes  that  I  would  breathe,  of 
the  shady  places  that  I  would  repose  in,  of  the  rivers  that 
I  would  follow  in  their  course,  of  the  flowers  I  would  plant, 
and  the  fruits  I  would  gather!  How  I  have  hoped  for 
such  an  existence  as  this !  How  I  have  longed  for  a  com- 
panion who  might  enjoy  it  as  I  should  !  Have  you  never 
felt  this  joy  that  I  have  imagined  to  myself,  you  who  have 
been  free  to  wander  wherever  you  pleased  ?  Let  us  leave 
this  place,  and  I  will  teach  it  to  you  if  you  have  not.  I  will 
be  so  patient,  so  obedient,  so  happy !  I  will  never  be  sor- 
rowful, never  repining;  but  let  us  escape  —  oh,  Hermanric, 
let  ns  escape  while  there  is  yet  time !  Will  you  keep  me 
here  to  be  slain  ?  Can  you  drive  me  forth  into  the  world 
alone  ?     Remember  that  the  gates  of  the  city  and  the  doors 


antonixa;   or,  the  fall  of  eome.  191 

of  my  home  are  now  closed  to  me  !  Remember  that  I  have 
no  mother,  and  that  my  father  has  forsaken  me  !  Remem- 
ber that  I  am  a  stranger  on  the  earth  which  was  made  for 
me  to  be  joyful  in  !  Think  how  soon  the  woman  who  has 
vowed  that  she  will  murder  me  will  return ;  think  how  ter- 
rible it  is  to  be  in  the  fear  of  death ;  and  while  there  is  time 
let  us  depart  —  Hermanric,  Hermanric,  if  you  have  pity  for 
me,  let  us  depart !" 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  looked  up  in  his  face  implor- 
ingly. The  manner  of  Hermanric  had  expressed  more  to 
her  senses,  sharpened  as  they  were  by  peril,  than  his  words 
could  have  conveyed,  even  had  he  confessed  to  her  the 
cause  of  the  emotions  of  doubt  and  apprehension  that  op- 
pressed his  mind.  Nothing  could  more  strikingly  testify  to 
the  innocence  of  her  character  and  the  seclusion  of  her  life, 
than  her  attempt  to  combine  with  her  escape  from  Goisviu- 
tha's  fury  the  acquisition  of  such  a  companion  as  the  Goth. 
But  to  the  forlorn  and  affectionate  girl  who  saw  herself — a 
stranger  to  the  laws  of  the  social  existence  of  her  fellow- 
creatures —  suddenly  thrust  forth  friendless  into  the  un- 
friendly world,  could  the  heart  have  naturally  prompted 
any  other  desire  than  anxiety,  to  secure  the  companion  after 
having  discovered  the  protector  ?  In  the  guilelessness  of 
her  character,  in  her  absolute  ignorance  of  humanity,  of  the 
influence  of  custom,  of  the  adaptation  of  diflerence  of  feeling 
to  difference  of  sex,  she  vainly  imagined  that  the  tranquil 
existence  she  had  urged  on  Hermanric  would  suffice  for  the 
attainment  of  her  end,  by  presenting  the  same  allurements 
to  him — a  warrior  and  a  Goth,  that  it  contained  for  her — a 
lonely,  thoughtful,  visionary  girl !  And  yet,  so  wonderful 
was  the  ascendency  that  she  had  acquired  by  the  magic  of 
her  presence,  the  freshness  of  her  beauty,  and  the  novelty 
of  her  manner,  over  the  heart  of  the  young  chieftain,  that 
he,  W'ho  would  have  spurned  from  him  witli  contempt  any 
other  woman  who  might  have  addressed  to  him  such  a  pe- 
tition as  Antonina's,  looked  down  sorrowfully  at  the  girl 
as  she  ceased  speaking,  and  for  an  instant  hesitated  in  his 
choice. 

At  that  moment,  when  the  attention  of  each  was  fixed  on 
the  other,  a  third  person  stealthily  approached  the  opening 
of  the  tent,  and  beholding  them  together  thus,  burst  into  a 


192  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

bitter, taunting  laugh.  Hermanvic  raised  his  ejes  instantly ; 
but  the  sound  of  that  harsh,  unwomanly  voice  was  all-elo- 
quent to  Antonina's  senses.  She  hid  her  face  against  the 
Goth's  breast,  and  murmured,  breathlessly,  "She  has  return- 
ed !     I  must  die  !     I  must  die  !" 

She  had  returned  !  She  perceived  Hermanric  and  Anto- 
nina in  a  position  which  left  no  doubt  that  a  stronger  feel- 
ing than  the  mere  wish  to  protect  the  victim  of  her  intend- 
ed revenge  had  arisen,  during  her  absence,  in  the  heart  of 
her  kinsman.  Hour  after  hour  while  she  had  fulfilled  her 
duties  by  the  beds  of  Alaric's  invalided  soldiery,  had  she 
brooded  over  her  projects  of  vengeance  and  blood.  Neither 
the  sickness  nor  the  death  which  she  had  beheld  around  her 
had  possessed  an  influence  powerful  enough  over  the  stub- 
born ferocity  which  now  alone  animated  her  nature,  to  lure 
it  to  mercy  or  awe  it  to  repentance.  Invigorated  by  delay, 
and  enlarged  by  disappointment,  the  evil  passion  that  con- 
sumed her  had  strengthened  its  power,  and  aroused  the 
most  latent  of  its  energies,  during  the  silent  vigil  that  she 
had  just  held.  She  had  detested  the  girl  on  the  evening  be- 
fore for  her  nation ;  she  now  hated  her  for  herself. 

"  What  have  you  to  do  with  the  trappings  of  a  Gothic 
warrior?"  she  cried,  in  mocking  accents,  pointing  at  Her- 
manric with  a  long  hunting-knife  which  she  held  in  her 
hand.  "Why  are  you  here  in  a  Gothic  encampment?  Go, 
knock  at  the  gates  of  Rome,  implore  her  guards  on  your 
knees  to  admit  you  among  the  citizens,  and  when  they  ask 
you  why — show  them  the  girl  there !  Tell  them  that  you 
love  her,  that  you  would  wed  her,  that  it  is  nothing  to  you 
that  her  people  have  murdered  your  brother  and  his  chil- 
dren !  And  then,  when  you  yourself  have  begotten  sons, 
Gothic  bastards  infected  with  Roman  blood,  be  a  Roman  at 
heart  yourself,  send  your  children  forth  to  complete  what 
your  wife's  people  left  undone  at  Aquileia  —  by  murdering 
me/" 

She  paused,  and  laughed  scornfully.  Then  her  humor 
suddenly  changed,  she  advanced  a  few  steps,  and  continued 
in  a  louder  and  sterner  tone : 

"  You  have  broken  your  faith  ;  you  have  lied  to  me  ;  you 
have  forgotten  your  wrongs  and  mine ;  but  you  have  not 
yet  forgotten  my  parting  words  when  I  left  you  last  night! 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome.  193 

I  tolJ  you  that  she  should  be  slain,  and  now  that  you  have 
refused  to  avenge  me,  I  will  make  good  my  words  by  kill- 
ing her  with  my  own  hand  !  If  you  would  defend  her,  you 
must  murder  me.     You  must  shed  her  blood  or  mine!'''' 

She  stepped  forward,  her  towering  form  was  stretched  to 
its  highest  stature,  the  muscles  started  into  action  on  her 
bare  arms  as  she  raised  them  above  her  head.  For  one  in- 
stant she  tixed  her  glaring  eyes  steadily  on  the  girl's  shrink- 
ing form — the  next,  she  rushed  up  and  struck  furiously  with 
the  knife  at  her  bare  neck.  As  the  weapon  descended,  Her- 
manric  caught  her  wrist.  She  struggled  violently  to  disen- 
gage herself  from  his  grasp,  but  in  vain. 

The  countenance  of  the  young  warrior  grew  deadly  pale, 
as  he  held  her.  For  a  few  minutes  he  glanced  eagerly 
round  the  tent,  in  an  agony  of  bewilderment  and  despair. 
The  conflicting  interests  of  his  duty  toward  his  sister,  and 
his  anxiety  for  Antonina's  preservation,  filled  his  heart  to 
distraction.  A  moment  more  he  hesitated,  and  during  that 
short  delay  the  despotism  of  custom  had  yet  power  enough 
to  prevail  over  the  promptings  of  pity.  He  called  to  the 
girl  —  withdrawing  his  arm  which  had  hitherto  been  her 
support — "  Go  !  have  mercy  on  me ;  go  !" 

But  she  neither  heeded  nor  heard  him.  She  fell  on  her 
knees  at  the  woman's  feet,  and  in  a  low  moaning  voice,  fal- 
tered out : 

"What  have  I  done  that  I  deserve  to  be  slain?  Z nev- 
er murdered  your  children ;  I  never  yet  saw  a  child  but  I 
loved  it ;  if  I  had  seen  your  children,  I  should  have  loved 
them  /" 

"If  I  had  preserved  to  this  time  the  child  that  I  saved 
from  the  massacre,  and  you  had  approached  him,"  returned 
the  woman,  fiercely,  "I  would  have  taught  him  to  strike 
at  you  with  his  little  hands !  When  you  spoke  to  him,  he 
should  have  spat  upon  you  for  answer — even  thus!" 

Trembling,  exhausted,  terrified  as  she  was,  the  girl's  Ro- 
man blood  rushed  over  her  pale  cheeks  as  she  felt  the  insult. 
She  turned  toward  Hermanric,  looked  up  at  him  appealing- 
ly,  attempted  to  speak,  and  then  sinking  lower  upon  the 
ground,  wept  bitterly. 

"  Why  do  you  weep  and  pray  and  mouth  at  him?"  shriek- 
ed Goisvintha,  pointing  to  Hermanric  with  her  disengaged 

9 


194  antoxina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

baud.  "  He  has  neither  courage  to  protect  you^  uor  honor  to 
aid  me.  Do  you  think  that  /am  to  be  moved  by  your  tears 
and  entreaties?  I  tell  you  that  your  people  have  slain  my 
husband  and  my  children,  and  that  I  hate  you  for  that.  I 
tell  you  that  you  have  lured  Herraanric  into  love  for  a  Ro- 
man and  unfaithfulness  to  me,  and  I  will  slay  you  for  doing 
it !  I  tell  you  that  there  is  not  a  living  thing  of  the  blood 
of  your  country,  or  the  name  of  your  nation,  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  this  empire,  that  I  would  not  destroy 
if  I  had  the  power !  If  the  very  trees  on  the  road  hither 
could  have  had  feeling,  I  would  have  torn  the  bark  from 
their  stems  with  my  own  hands!  If  a  bird,  native  of  your 
skies,  had  flown  into  my  bosom  from  very  lameness  and 
sport,  I  would  have  crushed  it  dead  at  ray  feet !  And  do 
you  think  that  you  shall  escape?  Do  you  think  that  I  will 
not  avenge  the  deaths  of  my  husband  and  my  children  upon 
yoM,  after  this  ?" 

As  she  spoke,  she  mechanically  unclenched  her  hands. 
The  knife  dropped  to  the  ground.  Hermanric  instantly 
stooped  and  secured  it.  For  a  moment  she  stood  before 
him  released  from  his  grasp,  motionless  and  speechless. 
Then,  starting  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  idea,  she  moved  to- 
ward the  opening  of  the  tent,  and,  in  tones  of  malignant  tri- 
umph, addressed  him  thus: 

"You  shall  not  save  her  yet!  You  are  unworthy  of  your 
nation  and  your  name !  I  will  betray  your  cowardice  and 
treachery  to  your  brethren  in  the  camp !"  And  she  ran  to 
the  outside  of  the  tent,  calling  in  a  loud  voice  to  a  group  of 
young  warriors  who  happened  to  be  passing  at  a  short  dis- 
tance; "Stay!  stay!  Fritigern  —  Athanaric  —  Colias — Su- 
erid — Witheric — Fravitta  !  Hasten  hitherward  !  Herman- 
ric has  a  captive  in  his  tent — a  prisoner  whom  it  will  rejoice 
you  to  see !     Hitherward  !  hitherward  !" 

The  group  she  addressed  contained  some  of  the  most  tur- 
bulent and  careless  spirits  of  the  whole  Gotliic  array.  They 
had  just  been  released  from  their  duties  of  the  past  night, 
and  were  at  leisure  to  comply  with  Goisvintha's  request. 
She  had  scarcely  concluded  her  address  before  they  turned 
and  hurried  eagerly  up  to  the  tent,  shouting  to  Hermanric, 
as  they  advanced,  to  make  his  prisoner  visible  to  them  in 
the  open  air. 


ANTONi:!? A  ;    OR,  THfi  I'AtL  oT  itoiit:.  1 95 

They  had  probably  expected  to  be  regaled  by  the  ludi- 
crous terror  of  some  Roman  slave  whom  their  comrade  had 
discovered  lurking  in  the  empty  suburbs;  for  when  they 
entered  the  tent,  and  saw  nothing  but  the  shrinking  figure 
of  the  unhappy  girl,  as  she  crouched  on  the  earth  at  Her- 
manric's  feet,  they  all  paused  with  one  accord,  and  looked 
round  on  each  other  in  speechless  astonishment. 

"  Behold  her !"  cried  Goisvintha,  breaking  the  momentary 
silence.  "She  is  the  Roman  prisoner  that  your  man  of  valor 
there  has  secured  for  himself!  For  that  trembling  child 
he  has  forgotten  the  enmities  of  his  people  !  She  is  more  to 
him  already  than  army,  general,  or  companions.  Yo^i  have 
watched  before  the  city  during  the  night ;  but  he  has  stood 
sentinel  by  the  maiden  of  Rome!  Hope  not  that  he  will 
share  in  your  toils  or  mix  in  your  pleasures  more.  Alaric 
and  the  warriors  have  lost  his  services  —  his  future  king 
cringes  there  at  his  feet !" 

She  had  expected  to  arouse  the  anger  and  excite  the  jeal- 
ousy of  the  rough  audience  she  addressed ;  but  the  result  of 
her  envenomed  jeers  disappointed  her  hopes.  The  humor  of 
the  moment  prompted  the  Goths  to  ridicule,  a  course  infi- 
nitely more  inimical  to  Antonina's  interests  with  Hermanric 
than  menaces  or  recrimination.  Recovered  from  their  first 
astonishment,  they  burst  into  a  loud  and  universal  laugh. 

"Mars  and  Venus  caught  together!  But,  by  St.  Peter,  I 
see  not  Vulcan  and  the  net !"  cried  Fravitta,  who  having 
served  in  the  armies  of  Rome,  and  acquired  a  vague  knowl- 
edge there  of  the  ancient  mythology,  and  the  modern  poli- 
tics of  the  empire,  was  considered  by  his  companions  as  the 
wit  of  the  battalion  to  which  he  was  attached. 

"  I  like  her  figure,"  growled  Fritigern,  a  heav}',  phlegmat- 
ic giant,  renowned  for  his  imperturbable  good -humor  and 
his  prowess  in  drinking.  "  What  little  there  is  of  it  looks  so 
limp  that  Hermanric  might  pack  her  into  his  light  baggage 
and  carry  her  about  with  him  on  his  shoulders  wherever  he 
goes !" 

"By  which  process  you  would  say,  old  sucker  of  wine- 
skins, that  he  will  attain  the  double  advantage  of  always 
keeping  her  to  himself,  and  always  keeping  her  warm,"  in- 
terrupted Colias,  a  ruddy,  reckless  boy  of  sixteen,  privileged 
to  be  impertinent  in  consideration  of  his  years. 


1 96         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME, 

"Is  she  orthodox  or  Arian  ?"  gravely  demanded  Athana- 
ric,  who  piqued  himself  on  his  theological  accomplishments 
and  his  extraordinary  piety. 

"  What  hair  she  has  !"  exclaimed  Suerid,  sarcastically. 
"It  is  as  black  as  the  horse-hides  of  a  squadron  of  Huns!" 

"Show  us  her  face!  Whose  tent  will  she  visit  next?" 
cried  Witheric,  with  an  insolent  laugh. 

"Mine!"  replied  Fritigern,  complacently.  "What  says 
the  chorus  of  the  song — 

'  Money  and  wine 
Make  beauty  mine!' 

I  have  more  of  both  than  any  of  you.  She  will  come  to  my 
tent !" 

During  the  delivery  of  these  clumsy  jests,  which  followed 
one  upon  another  with  instantaneous  rapidity,  the  scorn  at 
first  expressed  in  Hermanric's  countenance  became  gradual- 
ly replaced  by  a  look  of  irrepressible  anger.  As  P^ritigerii 
spoke,  he  lost  all  command  over  himself,  and  seizing  his 
sword,  advanced  threateningly  toward  the  easy- tempered 
giant,  who  made  no  attempt  to  recede  or  defend  himself,  but 
called  out  soothingly,  "  Patience,  man  !  patience  !  Would 
you  kill  an  old  comrade  for  jesting?  I  envy  you  your  good 
luck  as  a  friend,  not  as  an  enemy  !" 

Yielding  to  the  necessity  of  lowering  his  sword  before  a 
defenseless  man,  Hermanric  was  about  to  reply  angrily  to 
Fritigern,  when  his  voice  was  drowned  in  the  blast  of  a 
trumpet,  sounding  close  by  the  tent.  The  signal  that  it 
gave  was  understood  at  once  by  the  group  of  jesters  still  sur- 
rounding the  young  Goth.  They  turned,  and  retired  with- 
out an  instant's  delay.  The  last  of  their  number  had  scarce- 
ly disappeared,  when  the  same  veteran  who  had  spoken  with 
Hermanric,  on  the  departure  of  Goisvintha  the  evening  be- 
fore, entered  and  thus  addressed  him : 

"You  are  commanded  to  post  yourself,  with  the  division 
that  now  awaits  you,  at  a  place  eastward  of  your  present 
position,  which  will  be  shown  you  by  a  guide.  Make  ready 
at  once — you  have  not  an  instant  to  delay." 

As  the  words  passed  the  old  man's  lips,  Hermanric  turn- 
ed and  looked  on  Goisvintha.  During  the  presence  of  the 
Goths  in  the  tent,  she  had  sat  listening  to  their  rough  jeers 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  komb.  197 

in  suppressed  wrath  and  speecliless  disdain ;  now  she  rose 
and  advanced  a  few  steps.  But  there  suddenly  appeared 
an  unwonted  hesitation  in  her  gait;  her  face  was  pale;  she 
breathed  fast  and  heavily.  "Where  will  you  shelter  her 
now?"  she  cried,  addressing  Hernianric,  and  threatening  tlie 
girl  with  her  outstretched  hands.  "Abandon  her  to  your 
companions,  or  leave  her  to  me ;  she  is  lost  either  w^ay !  I 
shall  triumph — triumph  !" 

At  this  moment  her  voice  sank  to  an  unintelligible  mur- 
mur; she  tottered  where  she  stood.  It  was  evident  that 
the  long  strife  of  passions  during  her  past  night  of  watch- 
ing, and  the  fierce  and  varying  emotions  of  the  morning, 
suddenly  brought  to  a  crisis,  as  they  had  been,  by  her  exult- 
ation when  she  heard  the  old  warrior's  fatal  message,  had  at 
length  overtasked  the  energies  even  of  her  powerful  frame. 
Yet  one  moment  more  she  endeavored  to  advance,  to  speak, 
to  snatch  the  hunting-knife  from  Ilermanric's  hand;  the 
next,  she  fell  insensible  at  his  feet. 

Goaded  almost  to  madness  by  the  successive  trials  that 
he  had  undergone  —  Goisvintha's  furious  determination  to 
thwart  him  still  present  to  his  mind;  the  scornful  words  of 
his  companions  yet  ringing  in  his  ears;  his  inexorable  du- 
ties demanding  his  attention  without  reserve  or  delay — Hei- 
manric  succumbed  at  last  under  the  difficulties  of  his  posi- 
tion, and  despairingly  abandoned  all  further  hope  of  effect- 
ing the  girl's  preservation.  Pointing  to  some  food  that  lay 
in  a  corner  of  the  tent,  and  to  the  country  behind,  he  said  to 
her  in  broken  and  gloomy  accents,  "Furnish  yourself  with 
those  provisions,  and  fly,  while  Goisvintha  is  yet  unable  to 
pursue  you.     I  can  protect  you  no  longer!" 

Until  this  moment,  Antonina  had  kept  her  face  hidden, 
and  had  remained  still  crouching  on  the  ground  ;  motionless, 
save  when  a  shudder  ran  through  her  frame  as  she  listened 
to  the  loud,  coarse  jesting  of  the  Goths  ;  and  speechless,  ex- 
cept that  when  Goisvintha  sank  senseless  to  the  earth,  she 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  terror.  But  now,  when  she  heard 
the  sentence  of  her  banishment  proclaimed  by  the  very  lips 
which  but  the  evening  before  had  assured  her  of  shelter  and 
protection,  she  rose  up  instantly,  cast  on  the  young  Goth  a 
glance  of  such  speechless  misery  and  despair,  that  he  invol- 
untarily quailed  before  it ;  and  then,  without  a  tear  or  a  sigh, 


198  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  bome. 

without  a  look  of  reproach  or  a  word  of  entreaty,  petrified 
and  bowed  down  beneath  a  perfect  trance  of  terror  and 
grief,  she  left  the  tent. 

Hurrying  his  actions  with  the  reckless  energy  of  a  man 
determined  on  banishing  his  thoughts  by  his  employments, 
Hermanric  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  his  troop,  and 
marched  quickly  onward  in  an  eastward  direction  past  the 
Pincian  Gate.  Two  of  his  attendants  who  happened  to  en- 
ter the  tent  after  his  departure,  observing  Goisvintha  still 
extended  on  the  earth,  proceeded  to  transport  her  to  part  of 
the  camp  occupied  by  the  women  who  were  attached  to  the 
army ;  and  then  the  little  sheltering  canopy  which  made  the 
abode  of  the  Goth,  and  which  had  witnessed  so  large  a  share 
of  human  misery  and  so  fierce  a  war  of  human  contention 
in  so  few  hours,  was  left  as  silent  and  lonely  as  the  deserted 
country  in  which  Antonina  was  now  fated  to  seek  a  refuge 
and  a  home. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  WALL. 


•  "A  FAIR  night  this,  Balbus !  All  moonlight  and  no  mist ! 
I  was  posted  last  evening  at  the  Ostian  Gate,  and  was  half 
choked  by  the  fog." 

"  If  you  were  posted  last  night  at  the  Ostian  Gate,  you 
were  better  placed  than  you  are  now.  The  ramparts  here 
are  as  lonely  as  a  ruin  in  the  provinces.  Nothing  behind  us 
but  the  back  of  the  Pincian  Mount ;  nothing  before  us  but 
the  empty  suburbs ;  nothing  at  each  side  of  us  but  brick 
and  stone;  nothing  at  our  posts  but  ourselves.  May  I  be 
crucified  like  St.  Peter,  if  I  believe  that  there  is  another  place 
on  the  whole  round  of  the  walls  possessed  of  such  solitary 
dullness  as  this !" 

"You  are  a  man  to  find  something  to  complain  of,  if  you 
were  lodged  in  one  of  the  palaces  yonder.  The  place  is  sol- 
itary enough,  it  is  true;  but  whether  it  is  dull  or  not  de- 
pends on  ourselves,  its  most  honorable  occupants.  I,  for  one, 
am  determined  to  promote  its  joviality  by  the  very  praise- 
worthy exertion  of  obliging  you,  my  discontented  friend,  with 
an  inexhaustible  series  of  those  stories  for  which,  I  may  say 


antonixa;   or,  the  fall  of  rome.  199 

without  arrogance,  I  am  celebrated  throughout  the  length 
and  breadth  of  all  the  barracks  of  Rome." 

"You  may  tell  as  many  stories  as  you  please,  but  do  not 
imagine  that  I  will  make  one  of  your  audience." 

"You  are  welcome  to  attend  me  or  not,  as  you  choose. 
Though  you  do  not  listen,  I  shall  still  relate  my  stories  by 
way  of  practice.  I  will  address  them  to  the  walls,  or  to  the 
air,  or  to  the  defunct  gods  and  goddesses  of  antiquity,  should 
they  happen  at  this  moment  to  be  hovering  over  the  city  in 
a  rage,  as  some  of  the  unconverted  would  have  us  believe ; 
or  to  our  neighbors  the  Goths,  if  they  are  seized  with  a  sud- 
den desire  to  quit  their  encampments,  and  obtain  a  near  view 
of  the  fortifications  that  they  are  so  discreetly  unwilling  to 
assault.  Or,  these  materials  for  a  fit  and  decent  auditory 
failing  me,  I  will  tell  my  stories  to  the  most  attentive  of  all 
listeners — myself." 

And  the  sentinel,  without  further  delay,  opened  his  budget 
of  anecdotes,  with  the  easy  fluency  of  a  man  who  possessed 
a  well-placed  confidence  in  the  perfection  of  his  capacities 
for  narration.  Determined  that  his  saturnine  comrade  should 
hear  him,  though  he  would  not  give  him  his  attention,  he 
talked  in  a  raised  voice,  pacing  briskly  backward  and  for- 
ward over  the  space  of  his  allotted  limits,  and  laughing  with 
ludicrous  regularity  and  complacency  at  every  jest  that  he 
happened  to  make  in  the  course  of  his  ill-rewarded  narrative. 
He  little  thought,  as  he  continued  to  proceed  in  his  tale,  that 
its  commencement  had  been  welcomed  by  an  unseen  hearer, 
with  emotions  widely  different  from  those  which  had  dictated 
the  observations  of  the  unfriendh'  companion  of  his  watch. 

True  to  his  determination,  Ulpius,  with  part  of  the  wages 
which  he  had  hoarded  in  Numerian's  service,  had  procured 
a  small  lantern  from  a  shop  in  one  of  the  distant  quarters  of 
Rome;  and  veiling  its  light  in  a  piece  of  coarse,  thick  cloth, 
had  proceeded  by  the  solitary  pathway  to  his  second  night's 
labor  at  the  wall.  He  arrived  at  the  breach  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  dialogue  above  related,  and  beard  with 
delisrht  the  sentinel's  noisy  resolution  to  amuse  his  compan- 
ion in  spite  of  himself  The  louder  and  the  longer  the  man 
talked,  the  less  probable  was  the  chance  that  the  Pagan's  la- 
bors in  the  interior  of  the  wall  would  be  suspected  or  over- 
heard. 


200  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

Softly  clearing  away  the  brush-wood  at  the  entrance  of  the 
hole  that  he  had  made  the  night  before,  Ulpius  crept  in  as 
far  as  he  had  penetrated  on  that  occasion ;  and  then,  with 
mingled  emotions  of  expectation  and  apprehension  which  af- 
fected him  so  powerfully  that  he  was  for  the  moment  hardly 
master  of  his  actions,  he  slowly  and  cautiously  uncovered 
his  light. 

His  first  glance  was  intuitively  directed  to  the  cavity  that 
opened  beneath  him.  He  saw  immediately  that  it  was  less 
important  both  in  size  and  depth,  than  he  had  imagined  it  to 
be.  The  earth  at  this  partic.'ular  place  had  given  way  be- 
neath the  foundations  of  the  wall,  which  had  sunk  down, 
deepening  the  chasm  by  their  weight,  into  the  yielding 
ground  beneath  them.  A  small  spring  of  water  (probably 
the  first  cause  of  the  sinking  in  the  earth)  had  bubbled  up 
into  the  space  in  the  brick-work,  which  bit  by  bit,  and  year 
by  year,  it  had  gradually  undermined.  Nor  did  it  remain 
stagnant  at  this  place.  It  trickled  merrily  and  quietly  on- 
ward— a  tiny  rivulet,  emancipated  from  one  prison  in  the 
ground  only  to  enter  another  in  the  wall,  bounded  by  no 
grassy  banks,  brightened  by  no  cheerful  light,  admired  by 
no  human  eye,  followed  in  its  small  course  through  the  inner 
fissures  in  the  brick  by  no  living  thing  but  a  bloated  toad 
or  a  solitary  lizard ;  yet  wending  as  happily  on  its  way 
through  darkness  and  ruin  as  its  sisters  who  were  basking  in 
the  sunlight  of  the  meadow,  or  leaping  in  the  fresh  breezes 
of  the  open  mountain  side. 

Raising  his  eyes  from  the  little  spring,  Ulpius  next  direct- 
ed his  attention  to  the  prospect  above  him. 

Immediately  over  his  head,  the  material  of  the  interior  of 
the  wall  presented  a  smooth,  flat,  hard  surface,  which  seemed 
capable  of  resisting  the  most  vigorous  attempts  at  its  de- 
struction ;  but  on  looking  round,  he  perceived  at  one  side  of 
him  and  farther  inward,  an  appearance  of  dark,  dimly-defined 
irregularity,  which  promised  encouragingly  for  his  intended 
efforts.  He  descended  into  the  chasm  of  the  rivulet,  crawled 
up  on  a  heap  of  crumbling  brick- work,  and  gained  a  hole 
above  it,  which  he  immediately  began  to  widen,  to  admit  of 
his  passage  through.  Inch  by  inch  he  enlarged  the  rift, 
crept  into  it,  and  found  himself  on  a  fragment  of  the  bow  of 
one  of  the  foundation  arches,  which,  though  partly  destroy- 


A^^TONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  201 

ed,  still  supported  itself,  isolated  from  all  connection  with 
the  part  of  the  upper  wall  which  it  had  once  sustained,  and 
wliieh  had  gradually  crumbled  away  into  the  cavities  below. 

He  looked  up.  An  immense  rift  soared  above  him,  stretch- 
ing its  tortuous  ramifications,  at  different  points,  into  every 
part  of  the  wall  that  was  immediately  visible.  The  whole 
structure  seemed,  at  this  place,  to  have  received  a  sudden 
and  tremendous  wrench.  But  for  the  support  of  the  sound- 
er fortifications  at  each  side  of  it,  it  could  not  have  sustain- 
ed itself  after  the  shock.  The  Pagan  gazed  aloft,  into  the 
fearful  breaches  which  yawned  above  him,  with  ungoverna- 
ble awe.  His  small,  fitful  light  was  not  sufficient  to  show 
him  any  of  their  terminations.  They  looked,  as  he  beheld 
them  in  dark  relief  against  the  rest  of  the  hollow  part  of  the 
wall,  like  mighty  serpents  twining  their  desolating  path 
right  upward  to  the  ramparts  above;  and  he  himself,  as 
he  crouched  on  his  pinnacle  with  his  little  light  by  his  side, 
was  reduced  by  the  wild  grandeur,  the  vast,  solemn  gloom  of 
the  obscure,  dusky,  and  ftmtastic  objects  around  him,  to  the 
stature  of  a  pigmy.  Could  he  have  been  seen  from  the  ram- 
parts high  overhead,  as  he  now  peered  down  behind  his  lan- 
tern into  the  cavities  and  irregularities  below  him,  he  would 
have  looked,  with  his  flickering  light,  like  a  mole  led  by  a 
glow-worm. 

He  paused  to  consider  his  next  movements.  In  a  station- 
ary position,  the  damp  coldness  of  the  atmosphere  was  al- 
most insupportable,  but  he  attained  a  great  advantage  by 
liis  present  stillness:  he  could  listen  undisturbed  by  the 
noises  made  by  the  bricks  which  crumbled  from  under  him, 
if  he  advanced. 

Ere  long,  he  heard  a  thin,  winding,  long-drawn  sound, 
now  louder,  now  softer ;  now  approaching,  now  retreating ; 
now  verging  toward  shrillness,  now  quickly  returning  to  a 
faint,  gentle  swell.  Suddenly  this  strange  unearthly  music 
was  interrupted  by  a  succession  of  long,  deep,  rolling  sounds, 
which  traveled  grandly  about  the  fissures  above,  like  prison- 
ed thunderbolts  striving  to  escape.  Utterly  ignorant  that 
the  first  of  these  noises  was  occasioned  by  the  night  wind 
winding  through  the  rents  in  the  brick  of  the  outer  wall  be- 
yond him ;  and  the  second,  by  the  echoes  produced  in  the 
irregular  cavities  above  by  the  footfall  of  the  sentries  over- 

9* 


202  antonina;  oe,  the  fall  of  kome. 

head — roused  by  the  influence  of  the  place,  and  the  mystery 
of  his  employment,  to  a  pitch  of  fanatic  exaltation,  which 
for  the  moment  absolutely  unsteadied  his  reason — filled  with 
the  frantic  enthusiasm  of  his  designs,  and  the  fearful  legends 
of  invisible  beings  and  worlds  which  made  the  foundation  of 
his  worship,  Ulpius  conceived,  as  he  listened  to  the  sounds 
around  and  above,  that  the  gods  of  antiquity  were  now  in 
viewless  congregation  hovering  about  him,  and  calling  to 
him  in  unearthly  voices  and  in  an  unknown  tongue  to  pro- 
ceed upon  his  daring  enterprise,  in  the  full  assurance  of  its 
near  and  glorious  success. 

"Roar  and  mutter,  and  make  your  hurricane  music  in  my 
ears  !"  exclaimed  the  Pagan,  raising  his  withered  hands,  and 
addressing  in  a  savage  ecstasy  his  imagined  deities.  "  Your 
servant  Ulpius  stops  not  on  the  journey  that  leads  him  to 
your  repeopled  shrines !  Blood,  crime,  danger,  pain — pride 
and  honor, joy  and  rest,  have  I  strewn  like  sacrifices  at  your 
altars'  feet !  Time  has  whirled  past  me ;  youth  and  man- 
hood have  lain  long  since  buried  in  the  hidden  Lethe  which 
is  the  portion  of  life;  age  has  wreathed  his  coils  over  my 
body's  strength,  but  still  I  watch  by  your  temples  and  serve 
your  mighty  cause!  Your  vengennce  is  near!  Monarchs 
of  the  world,  your  triumph  is  at  hand  !" 

He  remained  for  some  time  in  the  same  position,  looking 
fixedly  up  into  the  trackless  darkness  above  him,  drinking 
in  the  sounds  which — alternately  rising  and  sinking — still 
floated  round  him.  The  trembling  gleam  of  his  lantern  fell 
red  and  wild  upon  his  livid  countenance.  His  shaggy  hair 
floated  in  the  cold  breezes  that  blew  by  him.  At  this  mo- 
ment he  would  have  appeared  from  a  distance  like  a  phan- 
tom of  fire  perishing  in  a  mist  of  darkness ;  like  a  gnome  in 
adoration  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  ;  like  a  forsaken  spirit 
in  a  solitary  purgatory,  watching  for  the  advent  of  a  glimpse 
of  beauty  or  a  breath  of  air. 

At  length  he  aroused  himself  from  his  trance,  trimmed 
with  careful  hand  his  guiding  lantern,  and  set  forward  to 
penetrate  the  breadth  of  the  great  rift  he  had  just  en- 
tered. 

He  moved  on  in  an  oblique  direction  several  feet,  now 
creeping  over  the  tops  of  the  foundation  arches,  now  skirt- 
ing the  extremities  of  protrusions  in  the  ruined  brick-work, 


ANTOXINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  203 

now  descending  into  dark  slimy  rubbish-choked  chasms,  un- 
til the  rift  suddenly  diminished  in  all  directions. 

The  atmosphere  was  warmer  in  the  place  he  now  occupied ; 
he  could  faintly  distinguish  patches  of  dark  moss,  dotted 
here  and  there  over  the  uneven  surface  of  the  wall ;  and 
once  or  twice,  some  blades  of  long  flat  grass,  that  grew  from 
a  prominence  immediately  above  his  head,  were  waved  in 
his  face  by  the  wind,  which  he  could  now  feel  blowing 
through  the  narrow  fissure  that  he  was  pi-eparing  to  enlarge. 
It  was  evident  that  he  had  by  this  time  advanced  to  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  outer  extremity  of  the  wall. 

"Numerian  wanders  after  his  child  through  the  streets," 
muttered  the  Pagan,  as  he  deposited  his  lantern  by  his  side, 
bared  his  trembling  arms,  and  raised  his  iron  bar — "the 
slaves  of  his  neighbor  the  senator  are  forth  to  pursue  me. 
On  all  sides  my  enemies  are  out  after  me ;  but,  posted  here, 
I  mock  their  strictest  search !  If  they  would  track  me  to 
ray  hiding-place,  they  must  penetrate  the  walls  of  Rome ! 
If  tl)ey  would  hunt  me  down  in  my  lair,  they  must  assail 
me  to-night  in  the  camp  of  the  Goths !  Fools !  let  them 
look  to  themselves !  I  seal  the  doom  of  their  city  with  the 
last  brick  that  I  tear  from  their  defenseless  walls !" 

He  laughed  to  himself  as  he  thrust  his  bar  boldly  into  the 
crevice  before  him.  In  some  places  the  bricks  yielded  easily 
to  his  efforts;  in  others, their  resistance  was  only  to  be  over- 
come by  the  exertion  of  his  utmost  strength.  Resolutely 
and  unceasingly  he  continued  his  labors;  now  wounding  his 
hands  against  the  jagged  surfaces  presented  by  the  widen- 
ing fissure,  now  involuntarily  dropping  his  instrument  from 
ungovernable  exhaustion  ;  but  still  working  bravely  on,  in 
defiance  of  every  hinderance  that  opposed  him,  until  he  gain- 
ed the  interior  of  the  new  rift. 

As  he  drew  his  lantern  after  him  into  the  cavity  that  he 
had  made,  he  perceived  that  unless  it  was  heightened  im- 
mediately over  him  he  could  proceed  no  farther,  even  in  a 
creeping  position.  Irritated  at  this  unexpected  necessity 
for  more  violent  exertion,  desperate  in  his  determination  to 
get  through  the  wall  at  all  hazards  on  that  very  night,  he 
recklessly  struck  his  bar  upward  with  all  his  strength,  in- 
stead of  gradually  and  softly  loosening  the  material  of  the 
surface  that  opposed  him,  as  he  had  done  before. 


204         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

A  few  moments  of  this  labor  had  scarcely  elapsed,  when  a 
considerable  portion  of  the  brick-work,  consolidated  into  one 
firm  mass,  fell  with  lightning  suddenness  from  above.  It 
hurled  him  under  it,  prostrate  on  the  foundation  arch  which 
had  been  his  support,  crushed  and  dislocated  his  right  shoul- 
der, and  shivered  his  lantern  into  fragments.  A  groan  of  ir- 
repressible anguish  burst  from  his  lips.  He  was  left  in  im- 
jtenetrable  darkness. 

The  mass  of  brick-work,  after  it  had  struck  him,  rolled  a 
little  to  one  side.  By  a  desperate  exertion  he  extricated 
himself  from  under  it,  only  to  swoon  from  the  fresh  anguish 
caused  to  him  by  the  effort. 

For  a  short  time  he  lay  insensible  in  his  cold,  dark  soli- 
tude. Then,  reviving  after  this  first  shock,  he  began  to  ex- 
perience in  all  tiielr  severity  the  fierce  spasms,  the  dull  gnaw- 
ings,  the  throbbing  torments,  that  were  the  miserable  conse- 
quences of  the  injury  he  had  received.  His  arm  lay  motionless 
by  his  side — he  had  neither  strength  nor  resolution  to  move 
any  one  of  the  other  sound  limbs  in  his  body.  At  one  mo- 
ment, his  deep,  sobbing,  stifled  respirations  syllabled  horri- 
ble and  half-formed  curses;  at  another,  his  panting  breaths 
suddenly  died  away  within  him,  and  then  he  could  hear  the 
blood  dripping  slowly  from  his  shoulder,  with  dismal  regu- 
larity, into  a  little  pool  that  it  had  formed  already  by  his  side. 

The  shrill  breezes  which  wound  through  the  crevices  in 
the  wall  before  him  were  now  felt  only  on  his  wounded  limb. 
They  touched  its  surface  like  innumerable  splinters  of  thin, 
sharp  ice;  they  penetrated  his  flesh  like  rushing  sparks 
struck  out  of  a  sea  of  molten  lead.  There  were  moments, 
during  the  first  pangs  of  this  agony,  when  if  he  had  been 
possessed  of  a  weapon  and  of  the  strength  to  use  it,  he  would 
have  sacrificed  his  ambition  forever  by  depriving  himself  of 
life. 

But  this  desire  to  end  his  torments  with  his  existence  last- 
ed not  long.  Gradually  the  anguish  in  his  body  awakened 
a  wilder  and  stronger  distemper  in  his  mind,  and  then  the 
two  agonies,  physical  and  mental,  rioted  over  him  together 
in  fierce  rivalry,  divesting  him  of  all  thoughts  but  such  as 
were  by  their  own  agency  created  or  aroused. 

For  some  time  he  lay  helpless  in  his  misery,  alternately 
venting  by  stifled  groans  the  unalleviated  torment  of  his 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  205 

wounds,  and  lamenting  with  curses  the  failure  of  his  enter- 
prise at  the  very  moment  of  its  apparent  success.  At  length 
the  pangs  that  struck  through  him  seemed  to  grow  gradual- 
ly less  frequent;  he  hardly  knew  now  from  what  part  of  his 
frame  they  more  immediately  proceeded.  Insensibly  his 
faculties  of  thinking  and  feeling  grew  blunted;  then  he  re- 
mained a  little  while  in  a  mysterious,  unrefreshing  repose  of 
body  and  mind  ;  and  then  his  disordered  senses,  left  un- 
guided  and  unrestrained,  became  the  victims  of  a  sudden 
and  terrible  delusion. 

The  blank  darkness  around  him  appeared,  after  an  inter- 
val, to  be  gradually  dawning  into  a  dull  light,  thick  and 
misty,  like  the  reflections  on  clouds  which  threatened  a  thun- 
der-storm at  the  close  of  evening.  Soon  this  atmosphere 
seemed  to  be  crossed  and  streaked  with  a  fantastic  trellis- 
work  of  white,  seething  vapor.  Then  the  mass  of  brick- 
work which  had  struck  him  down  grew  visible  at  his  side, 
enlarged  to  an  enormous  bulk,  and  endued  with  a  power  of 
self-motion,  by  which  it  mysteriously  swelled  and  shrank, 
and  raised  and  depressed  itself,  without  quitting  for  a  mo- 
ment its  position  near  him.  And  then,  from  its  dark  and 
toiling  surface  there  rose  a  long  stream  of  dusky  shapes, 
which  twined  themselves  about  the  misty  trellis-work  above, 
and  took  the  prominent  and  palpable  form  of  human  counte- 
nances, marked  by  every  difference  of  age  and  distorted  by 
every  variety  of  suffering. 

There  were  infantine  faces,  wreathed  about  with  grave- 
worms  that  hung  round  them  like  locks  of  filthy  hair;  aged 
faces,  dabbled  with  gore  and  slashed  with  wounds;  youthful 
faces,  seamed  with  livid  channels,  along  which  ran  unceasing 
tears ;  lovely  faces,  distorted  into  fixed  expressions  of  raging 
pain,  wild  malignity,  and  despairing  gloom.  Not  one  of 
these  countenances  exactly  resembled  the  other.  Each  was 
distinguished  by  a  revolting  character  of  its  own.  Yet,  how- 
ever deformed  might  be  their  other  features,  the  eyes  of  all 
were  preserved  unimpaired.  Speechless  and  bodiless,  they 
floated  in  unceasing  myriads  up  to  the  fantastic  trellis-work, 
which  seemed  to  swell  its  wild  proportions  to  receive  the?n. 
There  they  clustered,  in  their  goblin  amphitheatre,  and  fixed- 
ly and  silently  they  all  glared  down,  without  one  exception, 
on  the  Pagan's  face ! 


206  ANTONINA ;    OR,  THE   FALL   OF   ROME. 

Meanwhile,  the  Myalls  at  the  side  began  to  gleam  out  with 
a  light  of  their  own,  making  jagged  boundaiies  to  the  mid- 
way scene  of  phantom  faces.  Then  the  rifts  in  their  surfaces 
widened,  and  disgorged  misshapen  figures  of  priests  and  idols 
of  the  old  time,  which  came  forth  in  every  hideous  deformity 
of  aspect,  mocking  at  the  faces  on  the  trellis-work ;  while 
behind  and  over  the  whole  soared  shapes  of  gigantic  dark- 
ness, robed  in  grim  cloudy  resemblances  of  skins  such  as 
were  worn  by  the  Goths,  and  wielding  through  the  quiver- 
ing vapor  mighty  and  shadow-like  weapons  of  war.  From 
the  whole  of  this  ghastly  assemblage  there  rose  not  the 
slightest  sound.  A  stillness,  as  of  a  dead  and  ruined  world, 
possessed  in  all  its  quarters  the  appalling  scene.  The  deep 
echoes  of  the  sentries'  footsteps  and  the  faint  dirging  of  the 
melancholy  winds  were  no  more.  The  blood  that  had  as 
yet  dripped  from  his  wound  made  no  sound  now  in  the  Pa- 
gan's ear;  even  his  own  agony  of  terror  was  as  silent  as 
were  the  visionary  demons  who  had  aroused  it.  Days,  years, 
centuries  seemed  to  pass,  as  he  lay  gazing  up,  in  a  trance  of 
horror,  into  his  realm  of  peopled  and  ghostly  darkness.  At 
last  nature  yielded  under  the  trial ;  the  phantom  prospect 
suddenly  whirled  round  him  with  fearful  velocity,  and  his 
senses  sought  refuge  from  the  thralldom  of  their  own  crea- 
tion in  a  deep  and  welcome  swoon. 

Time  had  moved  wearily  onward,  the  chiding  winds  had 
many  times  waved  the  dry  locks  of  his  hair  to  and  fro  about 
his  brow,  as  if  to  bid  him  awaken  and  arise,  ere  he  again  re- 
covered his  consciousness.  Once  more  aroused  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  position  and  the  sensation  of  his  wound,  he  slow- 
ly raised  himself  upon  his  uninjured  arm,  and  looked  wildly 
around  for  the  faintest  appearance  of  a  gleam  of  light.  But 
the  winding  and  uneven  nature  of  the  track  which  he  had 
formed  to  lead  him  through  the  wall  effectually  prevented 
the  moonbeams,  then  floating  into  the  outermost  of  the  cav- 
ities that  he  had  made,  from  reaching  the  place  where  he 
DOW  lay.  Not  a  single  object  was  even  faintly  distinguish- 
able around  him.  Darkness  hemmed  him  in,  in  rayless  and 
triumphant  obscurity,  on  every  side. 

The  first  agonies  of  the  injury  he  had  received  had  re- 
solved themselves  into  one  dull,  heavy,  unchanging  sensation 
of  pain.     The  vision  that  had  overwhelmed  his  senses  was 


ANTONINA;    OB,  the   fall   of   ROME.  207 

now,  in  a  vast  and  shadowy  form,  present  only  to  his  mem- 
ory, filling  the  darkness  with  fearful  recollections,  and  not 
with  dismal  forms ;  and  urging  on  him  a  restless,  headlong 
yearning  to  effect  his  escape  from  the  lonely  and  unhallow- 
ed sepulchre,  the  prison  of  solitude  and  death,  that  his  own 
fatal  exertions  threatened  him  with,  should  he  linger  much 
longer  in  the  caverns  of  the  wall. 

"I  must  pass  from  this  darkness  into  light  —  I  must 
breathe  the  air  of  the  sky,  or  I  shall  perish  in  the  damps  of 
this  vault,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse,  moaning  voice,  as  he 
raised  himself  gradually  and  painfully  into  a  creeping  po- 
sition, and,  turning  round  slowly,  commenced  his  meditated 
retreat. 

His  brain  still  whirled  with  the  emotions  that  had  so  late- 
ly overwhelmed  his  mind;  his  right  hand  hung  helplessly 
by  his  side,  dragged  after  him  like  a  prisoner's  chain,  and 
lacerated  by  the  uneven  surfaces  of  the  ground  over  which 
it  was  slowly  drawn,  as,  supporting  himself  on  his  left  arm, 
and  creeping  forward  a  few  inches  at  a  time,  he  set  forth 
on  his  toilsome  journey. 

Here  he  paused  bewildered  in  the  darkness;  there  he 
either  checked  himself  by  a  convulsive  effort  from  falling 
headlong  into  the  unknown  deeps  beneath  him,  or  lost  the 
little  ground  he  had  gained  in  labor  and  agony,  by  retracing 
his  way  at  the  bidding  of  some  unexpected  obstacle.  Xow 
he  gnashed  his  teeth  in  anguish,  now  he  cursed  in  despair, 
now  he  was  breathless  with  exhaustion  ;  but  still,  with  an 
obstinacy  that  had  in  it  something  of  the  heroic,  he  never 
failed  in  his  fierce  resolution  to  effect  his  escape. 

Slowly  and  painfully,  moving  with  the  pace  and  the  per- 
severance of  the  tortoise,  hopeless  yet  determined  as  a  navi- 
gator in  a  strange  sea,  he  writhed  onward  and  onward  upon 
his  unguided  course,  until  he  reaped  at  length  the  reward 
of  his  long-suffering,  by  the  sudden  discovery  of  a  thin  ray 
of  moonlight  toiling  through  a  crevice  in  the  murky  brick- 
work before  him.  Hardly  did  the  hearts  of  the  Magi,  when 
the  vision  of  "the  star  in  the  East"  first  dawned  on  their 
eyes,  leap  within  them  with  a  more  vivid  transport  than 
that  which  animated  the  heart  of  Ulpius  at  the  moment 
when  he  beheld  the  inspiring  and  guiding  light. 

Yet  a  little  more  exertion,  a  little  more  patience,  a  little 


208  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

more  anguish,  and  he  stood  once  again,  a  ghastly  and  crip- 
pled figure,  before  the  outer  cavity  of  the  wall. 

It  was  near  day-break;  the  moon  shone  faintly  in  the  dull 
gray  heaven  ;  a  small,  vaporous  rain  was  sinking  from  the 
shapeless  clouds;  the  waning  night  showed  bleak  and  cheer- 
less to  the  earth,  but  cast  no  mournful  or  reproving  influence 
over  the  Pagan''s  mind.  lie  looked  round  on  his  solitary 
lurking-place,  and  beheld  no  human  figure  in  its  lonely  re- 
cesses. He  looked  up  at  the  ramparts,  and  saw  that  the 
sentinels  stood  silent  and  apart,  wrapped  in  their  heavy 
watch-cloaks,  and  supported  on  their  trusty  weapons.  It 
was  perfectly  apparent  tliat  the  events  of  his  night  of  suf- 
fering and  despair  had  passed  unheeded  by  the  outer  world. 

He  glanced  back  with  a  shudder  upon  his  wounded  and 
helpless  limb;  then  his  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  the  wall. 
After  surveying  it  with  an  earnest  and  defiant  gaze,  he 
slowly  moved  the  brush -wood  with  his  foot  against  the 
small  cavity  in  its  outer  surface. 

"Days  pass,  wounds  heal,  chances  change,"  muttered  the 
old  man,  departing  from  his  haunt  with  slow  and  uncertain 
steps.  "In  the  mines  I  have  borne  lashes  without  a  mur- 
mur— I  have  felt  my  chains  widening,  with  each  succeeding 
day,  the  ulcers  that  their  teeth  of  iron  first  gnawed  in  my 
flesh,  and  have  yet  lived  to  loosen  my  fetters  and  to  close 
my  sores!  Shall  this  new  agony  have  a  power  to  conquer 
me  greater  than  the  others  that  are  past?  I  will  even  yet 
return  in  time  to  overcome  the  resistance  of  the  wall!  My 
arm  is  crushed,  but  my  purpose  is  whole  !" 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  SUBURBS. 


Retracing  some  hours,  we  turn  from  the  rifted  wall  to 
the  suburbs  and  the  country  which  its  ramparts  overlook; 
abandoning  the  footsteps  of  the  maimed  and  darkly-plotting 
Ulpius,  our  attention  now  fixes  itself  on  the  fortunes  of  Iler- 
manric  and  the  fate  of  Antonina. 

Although  the  evening  had  as  yet  scarcely  closed,  the 
Goth  had  allotted  to  the  warriors  under  his  command  their 


antonina;  ok,  the  fall  of  rome.  209 

different  stations  for  the  night  in  the  lonely  suburbs  of  the 
city.  This  duty  performed,  he  was  left  to  the  unbroken  sol- 
itude of  the  deserted  tenement  which  now  served  him  as  a 
tem|)urary  abode. 

Tile  house  he  occupied  was  tlie  last  of  the  wide  and  ir- 
regular street  in  which  it  stood  ;  it  looked  toward  the  wall 
beneath  the  Pincian  Mount,  from  which  it  was  separated  by 
a  public  garden  about  half  a  mile  in  extent.  This  once 
well-thronged  place  of  recreation  was  now  totally  unoccu- 
pied. Its  dull  groves  were  brightened  by  no  human  forms; 
the  chambers  of  its  gay  summer-houses  were  dark  and  deso- 
late ;  the  booths  of  its  fruit  and  flower  sellers  stood  vacant  on 
its  untrodden  lawns.  Melancholy  and  forsaken,  it  stretched 
forth  as  a  fertile  solitude  under  the  very  walls  of  a  crowded 
city. 

And  yet  there  was  a  charm  inexpressibly  solemn  and 
soothing  in  the  prospect  of  loneliness  that  it  presented,  as 
its  flower-beds  and  trees  were  now  gradually  obscured  to 
the  eye  in  the  shailows  of  the  advancing  night.  It  gained 
in  its  present  letinement  as  much  as  it  had  lost  of  its  former 
gayety ;  it  had  its  own  simple  attraction  still,  though  it  fail- 
ed to  sparkle  to  the  eye  with  its  accustomed  illuminations, 
or  to  please  the  ear  by  the  music  and  laughter  which  rose 
from  it  in  times  of  peace.  As  he  looked  forth  over  the  view 
from  the  terrace  of  his  new  abode,  the  remembrance  of  the 
employments  of  his  past  and  busy  hours  deserted  the  mem- 
ory of  the  young  Goth,  leaving  his  faculties  free  to  welcome 
the  reflections  which  niglit  began  insensibly  to  awaken  and 
create. 

Employed  under  such  auspices,  whither  would  the  thoughts 
of  Hermanric  naturally  stray? 

From  the  moonlight  that  already  began  to  ripple  over  the 
topmost  trembling  leaves  of  the  trees  beyond  him,  to  the 
delicate  and  shadowy  flowers  that  twined  up  the  pillars  of 
the  deserted  terrace  where  he  now  stood,  every  object  he 
beheld  connected  itself,  to  his  vivid  and  uncultured  imagina- 
tion, with  the  one  being  of  whom  all  that  was  beautiful  in 
nature  seemed  to  him  the  eloquent  and  befitting  type.  He 
thouglit  of  Antonina  whoni  he  ha<l  once  protected:  ot  An- 
tonina  whom  he  had  atterward  abandoned ;  of  Antonin^ 
whom  he  had  now  lost ! 


210  antonina;   on,  the  fall  of  rome. 

Strong  in  the  imaginative  and  weak  in  the  reasoning  fac- 
ulties ;  gifted  with  large  moral  perception  and  little  moral 
firmness ;  too  easy  to  be  influenced  and  too  difficult  to  be 
resolved,  Herraanric  had  deserted  the  girl's  interests  from 
an  infirmity  of  disposition,  rather  than  from  a  determination 
of  will.  Now,  therefore,  when  the  employments  of  the  day 
had  ceased  to  absorb  his  attention ;  now,  when  silence  and 
solitude  led  his  memory  back  to  his  morning's  abandonment 
of  his  helpless  charge,  that  act  of  fatal  impatience  and  ir- 
resolution inspired  him  with  the  strongest  emotions  of  sor- 
row and  remorse.  If,  during  her  sojourn  under  his  care,  An- 
tonina had  insensibly  influenced  his  heart,  her  image,  now 
that  he  reflected  on  his  guilty  share  in  their  parting  scene, 
filled  all  his  thoughts,  at  once  saddening  and  shaming  him, 
as  he  remembered  her  banishment  from  the  shelter  of  his 
tent. 

Every  feeling  which  had  animated  his  reflections  on  An- 
tonina on  the  previous  night,  was  doubled  in  intensity  as  he 
thought  on  her  now.  Again  he  recalled  her  eloquent  words, 
and  remembered  the  charm  of  her  gentle  and  innocent  man- 
ner; again  he  dwelt  on  the  beauties  of  her  outward  form. 
Each  warm  expression  ;  each  varying  intonation  of  voice 
that  had  accompanied  her  petition  to  him  for  safety  and 
companionship ;  every  persuasion  that  she  had  used  to  melt 
him,  now  revived  in  his  memory  and  moved  in  his  heart 
with  steady  influence  and  increasing  power.  All  the  hur- 
ried and  imperfect  pictures  of  happiness  which  she  had 
drawn  to  allure  him,  now  expanded  and  brightened,  until  his 
mind  began  to  figure  to  him  visions  that  had  been  hither- 
to unknown  to  faculties  occupied  by  no  other  images  than 
those  of  rivalry,  turbulence,  and  strife.  Scenes  called  into 
being  by  Antonina's  lightest  and  hastiest  expressions,  now 
rose  vague  and  shadowy  before  his  brooding  spirit.  Love- 
ly places  of  earth  that  he  had  visited  and  forgotten,  now 
returned  to  his  recollection,  idealized  and  refined  as  he 
thought  of  her.  She  appeared  to  his  mind  in  every  ajlure- 
ment  of  action,  fulfilling  all  the  duties  and  enjoying  all  the 
pleasures  that  she  had  proposed  to  him.  He  imagined  her 
happy  and  healthful,  journeying  gayly  by  his  side  in  the 
fresh  morning,  with  rosy  cheek  and  elastic  step ;  he  imag- 
ined her  delighting  him  by  her  promised  songs,  enlivening 


antonina;  or,  tfie  fall  of  rome.  211 

him  by  her  eloqueut  words,  in  the  mellow  stillness  of  even- 
ing ;  he  imagined  her  sleeping,  soft  and  warm  and  still,  in 
his  protecting  arms  —  ever  happy  and  ever  gentle;  girl  in 
years  and  woman  in  capacities ;  at  once  lover  and  compan- 
ion, teacher  and  pnpil,  follower  and  guide ! 

Such  she  might  have  been  once !     What  was  she  now  ? 

Was  she  sinking  under  her  loneliness,  perishing  from  ex- 
posure and  fatigue,  repulsed  by  the  cruel,  or  mocked  by  the 
imthinking?  To  all  these  perils  and  miseries  had  he  ex- 
posed her;  and  to  what  end?  To  maintain  the  uncertain 
favor,  to  preserve  the  unwelcome  friendship  of  a  woman 
abandoned  even  by  the  most  common  and  intuitive  virtues 
of  her  sex;  whose  frantic  craving  for  revenge  confounded 
justice  with  treachery,  innocence  with  guilt,  helplessness 
with  tyranny ;  whose  claims  of  nation  and  relationship 
should  have  been  forfeited  in  his  estimation  by  the  openly- 
confessed  malignity  of  her  designs,  at  the  fatal  moment 
when  she  had  communicated  them  to  him  in  all  their  atroc- 
ity, before  the  walls  of  Rome.  He  groaned  in  despair  as 
he  thought  on  this,  the  most  unworthy  of  the  necessities  to 
which  the  forsaken  girl  had  been  sacrificed. 

Soon,  however,  his  mind  reverted  from  such  reflections  as 
these,  to  his  own  duties  and  his  own  renown ;  and  here  his 
remorse  became  partially  lightened,  though  his  sorrow  re- 
mained unchanged. 

Wonderful  as  had  been  the  influence  of  An  ton  in  a's  pres- 
ence and  Antonina's  words  over  the  Goth,  they  had  not 
yet  acquired  power  enough  to  smother  in  him  entirely  the 
warlike  instincts  of  his  sex  and  nation,  or  to  vanquish  the 
strong  and  hostile  promptings  of  education  and  custom. 
She  had  gifted  him  with  new  emotions,  and  awakened  him 
to  new  thoughts;  she  had  aroused  all  the  dormant  gentle- 
ness of  his  disposition  to  war  against  the  rugged  indiffer- 
ence, the  reckless  energy,  that  teaching  and  example  had 
hitherto  made  a  second  nature  to  his  heart.  She  had  wound 
her  wjiy  into  his  mind,  brightening  its  dark  places,  enlarg- 
ing its  narrow  recesses,  beautifying  its  unpolished  treasures. 
She  had  created,  she  had  refined,  during  her  short  hours  of 
communication  with  him,  but  she  had  not  lured  his  dispo- 
sition entirely  from  its  old  habits  and  its  old  attachments; 
she  had  not  yet  stripped  off"  the  false  glitter  from  barbarian 


212  antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

strife,  or  the  pomp  from  martial  renown ;  she  had  not  ele- 
vated the  inferior  intellectual  to  the  height  of  the  superior 
moral  faculties,  in  liis  inward  composition.  Submitted  al- 
most impartially  to  the  alternate  and  conflicting  dominion 
of  the  two  masters,  Love  and  Duty,  he  at  once  regretted 
Antonina,  and  yet  clung  mechanically  to  his  old  obedience 
to  those  tyrannic  requirements  of  nation  and  name  which 
liad  occasioned  her  loss. 

Oppressed  by  his  varjnng  emotions,  destitute  alike  of  con- 
solation and  advice,  the  very  inaction  of  his  j^resent  position 
sensibly  depressed  him.  He  rose  impatiently,  and  buckling 
on  his  weapons,  sought  to  escape  from  his  thoughts,  by 
abandoning  the  scene  under  the  influence  of  which  they  had 
been  first  aroused.  Turning  his  back  upon  the  city,  he  di- 
rected his  steps  at  random  through  the  complicated  laby- 
rinth of  streets  composing  the  extent  of  the  deserted  suburbs. 

After  he  had  passed  through  the  dwellings  comprised  in 
the  occupation  of  the  Gothic  lines,  and  had  gained  those 
situated  nearer  to  the  desolate  country  beyond,  the  scene 
around  him  became  impressive  enough  to  have  absorbed  the 
attention  of  any  man  not  wholly  occupied  by  other  and 
more  important  objects  of  contemplation. 

The  loneliness  he  now  beheld  on  all  sides,  was  not  the 
loneliness  of  ruin — the  buildings  near  him  were  in  perfect 
repair;  it  was  not  the  loneliness  of  pestilence — there  were 
no  corpses  strewn  over  the  untrodden  pavements  of  the 
streets;  it  was  not  the  loneliness  of  seclusion — there  were 
no  barred  windows,  and  few  closed  doors;  it  was  a  solitude 
of  human  annihilation.  The  open  halls  of  the  theatres  were 
untenanted  ;  the  porticoes  of  the  churches  were  unapproach- 
ed  ;  the  benches  before  the  wine-shops  were  unoccupied  ;  re- 
mains of  gaudy  household  wares  still  stood  on  the  counters 
of  the  street  booths,  watched  by  none,  bought  by  none;  par- 
ticles of  bread  and  meat  (treasures  fated  to  become  soon  of 
greater  value  than  silver  and  gold  to  beleaguered  Rome) 
rotted  here  in  the  open  air,  like  garbage  upon  dunghills ; 
children's  toys,  women's  ornaments,  purses,  money,  loveto- 
kens,  precious  manuscripts,  lay  scattered  hither  and  thither 
in  the  public  ways,  dropped  and  abandoned  by  their  differ- 
ent owners  in  the  hurry  of  their  sudden  and  universal  flight. 
Every  deserted  street  was  eloquent  of  darling  projects  des- 


ATSTONINA;    or,  the   fall   of   ROME.  213 

perately  resigned,  of  valued  labors  miserably  deserted,  of  de- 
lighting enjoyments  irretrievably  lost.  The  place  was  for- 
saken even  by  those  household  gods  of  rich  and  poor,  its 
domestic  animals.  They  had  either  .followed  their  owners 
into  the  city,  or  strayed,  unhindered  and  unwatched,  into 
the  country  beyond.  MaTision,  bath,  and  circus  displayed 
their  gaudy  pomp  and  luxurious  comfort  in  vain;  not  even 
a  wandering  Goth  was  to  be  seen  near  their  empty  halls. 
For,  with  such  a  prospect  before  them  as  the  subjugation  of 
Rome,  the  army  had  caught  the  infection  of  its  leader's  en- 
thusiasm for  his  exalted  task,  and  willingly  obeyed  his  com- 
mands for  suspending  the  pillage  of  the  suburbs,  disdaining 
the  comparatively  worthless  treasures  around  them,  attaina- 
ble at  any  time,  when  they  felt  that  the  rich  coffers  of  Rome 
herself  were  now  fast  opening  to  their  eager  hands.  Voice- 
less and  noiseless,  unpeopled  and  unravaged,  lay  the  far- 
famed  suburbs  of  the  greatest  city  of  the  universe,  sunk  alike 
in  the  night  of  Nature,  the  night  of  Fortune,  and  the  night 
of  Glory ! 

Saddening  and  impressive  as  was  the  prospect  thus  pre- 
sented to  the  eyes  of  the  young  Goth,  it  failed  to  weaken 
the  powerful  influence  that  his  evening's  meditations  yet 
held  over  his  mind.  As,  during  the  hours  that  were  passed, 
the  image  of  the  forsaken  girl  had  dissipated  the  remem- 
brance of  the  duties  he  had  performed,  and  opposed  the  con- 
templation of  the  commands  he  was  yet  to  fulfill,  so  it  now 
denied  to  his  faculties  any  impressions  from  the  lonely  scene, 
beheld  yet  unnoticed,  which  spread  around  him.  Still,  as 
he  passed  through  the  gloomy  streets,  his  vain  regrets  and 
self-accusations — his  natural  predilections  and  acquired  at- 
tachments, ruled  over  him,  and  contended  within  him,  as 
sternly  and  as  unceasingly  as  in  the  first  moments  when 
they  had  arisen  with  the  evening  during  his  sojourn  in  the 
terrace  of  the  deserted  house. 

lie  had  now  arrived  at  the  extrcmest  boundary  of  the 
buildings  in  the  suburbs.  Before  him  lay  an  uninterrupted 
pi'ospect  of  smooth,  shining  fields,  and  soft,  hazy,  indefinable 
woods.  At  one  side  of  him  were  some  vineyards  and  cot- 
tage gardens ;  at  the  other  was  a  solitary  house,  the  outer- 
most of  all  the  abodes  in  his  immediate  vicinity.  Dark  and 
cheerless  as  it  was,  he  regarded  it  for  some  time  with  the 


214  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

mechanical  attention  of  a  man  more  occupied  in  thought 
than  observation,  gradually  advancing  toward  it  in  the 
moody  abstraction  of  his  retiections,  until  he  unconsciously 
paused  before  the  low  range  of  irregular  steps  which  led  to 
its  entrance  door. 

Startled  from  his  meditations  by  his  sudden  propinquity 
to  the  object  that  he  had  unwittingly  approached,  he  now, 
for  the  first  time,  examined  the  lonely  abode  before  him 
with  real  attention. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  about  the  house,  save  the 
extreme  desolateness  of  its  appearance,  which  seemed  to 
arise  partly  from  its  isolated  position,  and  partly  from  the 
UHUsual  absence  of  all  decoration  on  its  external  front.  It 
was  too  extensive  to  have  been  the  dwelling  of  a  poor  man, 
too  void  of  pomp  and  ornament  to  have  been  a  mansion  of 
the  rich.  It  might,  perhaps,  have  belonged  to  some  citizen 
or  foreigner  of  the  middle  class — some  moody  Northman, 
some  solitary  Egyptian,  some  scheming  Jew.  Yet,  though 
it  was  not  possessed  in  itself  of  any  remarkable  or  decided 
character,  the  Goth  experienced  a  mysterious,  almost  an 
eager  curiosity  to  examine  its  interior.  He  could  assign  no 
cause,  discover  no  excuse  for  the  act,  as  he  slowly  mounted 
the  steps  before  him.  Some  invisible  and  incomprehensible 
magnet  attracted  him  to  the  dwelling.  If  his  return  had 
been  suddenly  commanded  by  Alaric  himself — if  evidences 
of  indubitable  treachery  had  lurked  about  the  solitary  place, 
at  the  moment  when  he  thrust  open  its  unbarred  door,  he 
felt  that  he  must  still  have  proceeded  upon  his  onward 
course. 

The  next  instant  he  entered  the  house.  The  light  stream- 
ed through  the  open  entrance  into  the  gloomy  hall ;  the 
night-wind,  rushing  upon  its  track,  blew  shrill  and  dreary 
among  the  stone  pillars  and  in  the  hidden  crevices  and  un- 
tenanted chambers  above.  Not  a  sign  of  life  appeared,  not 
a  sound  of  a  footstep*  was  audible,  not  even  an  article  of 
household  use  was  to  be  seen.  The  deserted  suburbs  rose, 
without,  like  a  wilderness ;  and  this  empty  house  looked, 
within,  like  a  sepulchre  void  of  corpses,  and  yet  eloquent 
of  death ! 

There  was  an  inexplicable  fascination  to  the  eyes  of  the 
Goth  about  this  vault-like,  solitary  hall.     He  stood  motion- 


Ain'ONINA;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    KOME.  215 

less  at  its  entrance,  gazing  dreamily  at  the  gloomy  prospect 
before  him,  until  a  strong  gust  of  wind  suddenly  forced  the 
outer  door  farther  backward,  and  at  the  same  moment  ad- 
mitted a  larger  stream  of  light. 

The  place  was  not  empty.  In  a  corner  of  the  hall,  hither- 
to sunk  in  darkness,  crouched  a  shadowy  form.  It  was  en- 
veloped in  a  dark  garment,  and  huddled  up  into  an  indefin- 
able and  unfamiliar  shape.  Nothing  appeared  on  it,  as  a 
denoting  sign  of  humanity,  but  one  pale  hand,  holding  the 
black  drapery  together,  and  relieved  against  it  in  almost 
ghastly  contrast  under  the  cold  light  of  the  moon. 

Vague  remembrances  of  the  awful  superstitions  of  his  na- 
tion's ancient  worship  hurried  over  the  memory  of  the  young 
Goth,  at  the  first  moment  of  his  discovery  of  the  ghost-like 
occupant  of  the  hall.  As  he  stood  in  fixed  attention  before 
the  motionless  figure,  it  soon  began  to  be  endowed  with  the 
same  strange  influence  over  his  will  that  the  lonely  house 
had  already  exerted.  He  advanced  slowly  toward  the 
crouching  form. 

It  never  stirred  at  the  noise  of  his  approach.  The  pale 
hand  still  held  the  mantle  over  the  compressed  figure,  with 
the  same  rigid  immobility  of  grasp.  Brave  as  he  was,  Her- 
raanric  shuddered  as  he  bent  down  and  touched  the  blood- 
less, icy  fingers.  At  that  action,  as  if  endowed  with  instant 
vitality  from  contact  with  a  living  being,  the  figure  sudden- 
ly started  up. 

Then  the  folds  of  the  dark  mantle  fell  back,  disclosing  a 
face  as  pale  in  hue  as  the  stone  pillars  around  it ;  and  the 
voice  of  the  solitary  being  became  audible,  uttering  in  faint, 
monotonous  accents,  these  words : 

"  He  has  forgotten  and  abandoned  me !  Slay  me  if  you 
will — I  am  ready  to  die  !" 

Broken,  untuned  as  it  was,  there  yet  lurked  in  that  voice 
a  tone  of  its  old  music,  there  beamed  in  that  vacant  and 
heavy  eye  a  ray  of  its  native  gentleness.  With  a  sudden 
exclamation  of  compassion  and  surprise,  the  Goth  stepped 
forward,  raised  the  trembling  outcast  in  his  arms,  and,  in 
the  impulse  of  the  moment  quitting  the  solitary  house,  stood 
the  next  instant  on  the  firm  earth  and  under  the  starry  sky, 
once  more  united  to  the  charge  that  he  had  abandoned — to 
Antonina  whom  he  had  lost. 


216  antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome. 

He  spoke  to  her,  caressed  her,  entreated  her  pardon,  as- 
sured her  of  his  future  care ;  but  she  neither  answered  nor 
recognized  him.  She  never  looked  in  his  face,  never  moved 
in  his  arms,  never  petitioned  for  mercy.  She  gave  no  sign 
of  life  or  being,  saving  that  she  moaned  at  regular  intervals 
in  piteous  accents  :  "  He  has  forgotten  and  abandoned  me  !" 
as  if  that  one  simple  expression  comprised  in  itself  her  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  uselessuess  of  her  life  and  her  dirge 
for  her  expected  death. 

The  Goth's  countenance  whitened  to  his  very  lips.  He 
began  to  fear  that  her  faculties  had  sunk  under  her  trials. 
He  hurried  on  with  her  with  trembling  steps  toward  the 
open  country,  for  he  nourished  a  dreamy,  intuitive  hope  that 
the  sight  of  those  woods  and  fields  and  mountains  which  she 
had  extolled  to  him,  in  her  morning's  entreaty  for  protec- 
tion, might  aid  in  restoring  her  suspended  consciousness  if 
she  now  looked  on  them. 

He  ran  forward  until  he  had  left  the  suburbs  at  least  half 
a  mile  behind  him,  and  had  reached  an  eminence  bounded 
on  each  side  by  high  grass  banks  and  clustering  woods,  and 
commanding  a  narrow  yet  various  prospect  of  the  valley 
ground  beneath,  and  the  fertile  plains  that  extended  be- 
yond. 

Here  the  warrior  paused  with  his  burden ;  and,  seating 
himself  on  the  bank,  once  more  attempted  to  calm  the  girl's 
continued  bewilderment  and  terror.  He  thought  not  on  liis 
sentinels,  whom  he  had  abandoned — on  his  absence  from  the 
suburbs,  which  might  be  perceived  and  punished  by  an  unex- 
pected visit,  at  his  deserted  quarters,  from  his  superiors  in  the 
camp.  The  social  influence  that  sways  the  world ;  the  frag- 
ile idol  at  whose  shrine  pride  learns  to  bow,  and  insensibili- 
ty to  feel;  the  soft,  grateful  influence  of  yielding  nature  yet 
eternal  rule — the  influence  of  woman,  source  alike  of  virtues 
and  crimes,  of  earthly  glories  and  earthly  disasters — had,  in 
this  moment  of  anguish  and  expectation,  silenced  in  him  ev- 
ery appeal  of  duty,  and  overthrown  every  obstacle  of  selfish 
doubt.  He  now  spoke  to  Antonina  as  alluringly  as  a  wom- 
an, as  gently  as  a  child.  He  caressed  her  as  warmly  as  a 
lover,  as  cheerfully  as  a  brother,  as  kindly  as  a  father.  Pie, 
the  rough  northern  warrior,  whose  education  had  been  of 
arms,  and  whose  youthful  aspirations  had  been  taught  to 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  217 

point  toward  strife  and  bloodshed  and  glory — even  he  was 
now  endowed  with  the  tender  eloquence  of  pity  and  love — 
with  untiring,  skillful  care — with  calm,  enduring  patience. 

Gently  and  unceasingly  he  plied  his  soothing  task ;  and 
Soon,  to  his  joy  and  triumph,  he  beheld  the  approaching  re- 
ward of  his  efforts  in  the  slow  changes  that  became  gradual- 
ly perceptible  in  the  girl's  face  and  manner.  She  raised  her- 
self in  his  arms,  looked  up  fixedly  and  vacantly  into  his  face, 
then  round  upon  the  bright,  quiet  landscape,  then  back  again 
more  steadfastly  upon  her  companion  ;  and  at  length,  trem- 
bling violently,  she  whispered  softly  and  several  times  the 
young  Goth's  name,  glancing  at  him  anxiously  and  appre- 
hensively, as  if  she  feared  and  doubted  while  she  recognized 
him. 

"  You  are  bearing  me  to  my  death,"  said  she  suddenly. 
"  YoK,  who  once  protected  me — you,  who  forsook  me  !  You 
are  luring  me  into  the  power  of  the  woman  who  thirsts  for 
my  blood  !     Oh,  it  is  horrible — horrible  !" 

She  paused,  averted  her  face,  and  shuddering  violently, 
disengaged  herself  from  his  arms.  After  an  interval,  she 
continued : 

"Through  the  long  day,  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  cold 
night,  I  have  waited  in  one  solitary  place  for  the  death  that 
is  in  store  for  me  !  I  have  suffered  all  the  loneliness  of  my 
hours  of  expectation  without  complaint;  I  have  listened 
with  little  dread,  and  no  grief,  for  the  approach  of  my  enemy 
who  has  sworn  that  she  will  shed  my  blood  !  Having  none 
to  love  me,  and  being  a  stranger  in  the  land  of  my  own  na- 
tion, I  have  nothing  to  live  for  !  But  it  is  a  bitter  misery  to 
me  to  behold  in  j/ou  the  fulfiller  of  my  doom — to  be  snatch- 
ed by  the  hand  of  Hermanric  from  the  heritage  of  life  that  I 
have  so  long  struggled  to  preserve  !" 

Her  voice  had  altered,  as  she  pronounced  these  words,  to 
an  impressive  lowness  and  mournfulness  of  tone.  Its  quiet, 
saddened  .accents  were  expressive  of  an  almost  divine  resig- 
nation and  sorrow ;  they  seemed  to  be  attuned  to  a  mysteri- 
ous and  untraceable  harmony  with  the  melancholy  stillness 
of  the  night  landscape.  As  she  now  stood  looking  up  with 
pale,  calm  countenance,  and  gentle,  tearless  eyes,  into  the  sky 
whose  moonlight  brightness  shone  softl}'  over  her  form,  the 
Virgin  watching  the  approach  of  her  angel  messenger  conld 

10 


218  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

hardly  have  been  adorned  with  a  more  pure  and  simple  love- 
liness than  now  dwelt  over  the  features  of  Numerian's  for- 
saken child. 

No  longer  master  of  his  agitation — filled  with  awe,  grief, 
and  despair,  as  he  looked  on  the  victim  of  his  heartless  im- 
patience, Hermanric  bowed  himself  at  the  girl's  feet,  and  in 
the  passionate  utterance  of  real  remorse,  offered  up  his  sup- 
plications for  pardon  and  his  assurances  of  protection  and 
love.  All  that  the  reader  has  already  learned — the  bitter 
self-upbraidings  of  his  evening,  the  sorrowful  wanderings  of 
his  night,  the  mysterious  attraction  that  led  him  to  the  soli- 
tary house,  his  joy  a*t  once  more  discovering  his  lost  charge — 
all  these  confessions  he  now  poured  forth  in  the  simple  yet 
powerful  eloquence  of  strong  emotion  and  true  regret. 

Gradually  and  amazedly,  as  she  listened  to  his  words,  An- 
tonina awoke  from  her  abstraction.  Even  the  expression  of 
his  countenance  and  the  earnestness  of  his  manner,  viewed 
by  the  intuitive  penetration  of  her  sex,  wrought  with  kind 
and  healing  influence  on  her  mind.  She  started  suddenly,  a 
bright  flush  flew  over  her  colorless  cheeks;  she  bent  down, 
and  looked  earnestly  and  wistfully  into  the  Goth's  face.  Her 
lips  moved,  but  her  quick  convulsive  breathing  stifled  the 
words  that  she  vainly  endeavored  to  form. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Hermanric,  rising  and  drawing  her  to- 
ward him  again,  "  you  shall  never  mourn,  never  fear,  never 
weep  more !  Though  you  have  lost  your  father,  and  the 
people  of  your  nation  are  as  strangers  to  you — though  you 
have  been  threatened  and  forsaken,  you  shall  still  be  beau- 
tiful, still  be  happy;  for  I  will  watch  you,  and  you  shall 
never  be  harmed ;  I  will  labor  for  you,  and  you  shall  never 
want !  People  and  kindred,  fame  and  duty — I  will  abandon 
them  all  to  make  atonement  to  youP'' 

Its  youthful  freshness  and  hope  returned  to  the  girl's  heart, 
as  water  to  the  long-parched  spring,  when  the  young  warri- 
or ceased.  The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  but  she  neither  sigh- 
ed nor  spoke.  Her  frame  trembled  all  over  with  the  excess 
of  her  astonishment  and  delight,  as  she  still  steadfastly  look- 
ed on  him  and  still  listened  intently  as  he  proceeded : 

"Fear,  then,  no  longer  for  your  safety — Goisvintha,  whom 
you  dread,  is  far  from  us ;  she  knows  not  that  we  are  here ; 
she  can  not  track  our  footsteps  now,  to  threaten  or  to  harm 


ANTONINA;    or,  the   PALL   OF   RO^tE,  219 

you  !  Remember  no  more  how  you  have  suffered  and  I  have 
sinned  !  Think  only  how  bitterly  I  have  repented  our  morn- 
ing's separation,  and  how  gladly  I  welcome  our  meeting  of 
to-night.  Oh,  Antonina  !  you  are  beautiful  with  a  wondrous 
loveliness ;  you  are  young  with  a  perfected  and  unchildlike 
youth  ;  your  words  fall  upon  my  ear  with  the  music  of  a  song 
of  the  olden  time :  it  is  like  a  dream  of  the  spirits  that  my 
fathers  worshiped,  when  I  look  up  and  behold  you  at  my 
side !" 

An  expression  of  mingled  confusion,  pleasure,  and  surprise 
flushed  the  girl's  half-averted  countenance  as  she  listened  to 
the  Goth.  She  rose  with  a  smile  of  inefftible  gratitude  and 
delight,  and  pointed  to  the  prospect  beyond,  as  she  softly 
rejoined : 

"  Let  us  go  a  little  farther  onward,  where  the  moonlight 
shines  over  the  meadow  below.  My  heart  is  bursting  in  this 
shadowy  place !  Let  us  seek  the  light  that  is  yonder ;  it 
seems  happy  like  me  !" 

They  walked  forward;  and  as  they  went,  she  told  him 
again  of  tlie  sorrows  of  her  past  day;  of  her  lonely  and  de- 
spairing progress  from  his  tent  to  the  solitary  house  where 
he  had  found  her  in  the  night,  and  where  she  had  resigned 
herself  from  the  first  to  meet  a  death  that  had  little  horror 
for  her  then.  There  was  no  thought  of  reproach,  no  uttei*- 
ance  of  complaint,  in  this  renewal  of  her  melancholy  narra- 
tion. It  was  solely  that  she  might  luxuriate  afresh  in  those 
delighting  expressions  of  repentance  and  devotion,  which  she 
knew  that  it  would  call  forth  from  the  lips  of  Hermanric, 
that  she  now  thought  of  addressing  him  once  more  with  the 
tale  of  her  grief 

As  they  still  went  onward;  as  she  listened  to  the  rude, 
fervent  eloquence  of  the  language  of  the  Goth ;  as  she  look- 
ed on  the  deep  repose  of  the  landscape,  and  the  soft  trans- 
parency of  the  night  sky ;  her  mind,  ever  elastic  under  the 
shock  of  the  most  violent  emotions,  ever  ready  to  regain  its 
wonted  healthfulness  and  hope,  now  recovered  its  old  tone 
and  re-assumed  its  accustomed  balance.  Again  her  memory 
began  to  store  itself  with  its  beloved  remembrances,  and  her 
heart  to  rejoice  in  its  artless  longings  and  visionary  thoughts. 
Li  spite  of  all  her  fears  and  all  her  sufferings,  she  now  walked 
on  blessed  in  a  disposition  that  woe  had  no  shadow  to  dark- 


220         ANTONIXA;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

en  long,  and  neglect  no  influence  to  warp;  still  as  happy  in 
herself;  c\on  yet  as  forgetful  of  her  past,  as  hopeful  for  her 
future,  as  uii  that  first  evening  when  we  beheld  her  in  her 
father's  garden,  singing  to  the  music  of  her  Into. 

Insensibly  as  they  proceeded,  they  had  diverged  from  the 
road,  had  entered  a  by-path,  and  now  stood  before  a  gate 
which  led  to  a  small  farm-house,  surrounded  by  its  gardens 
and  vineyards,  and,  like  the  suburbs  that  they  had  quitted, 
deserted  by  its  inhabitants  on  the  approach  of  tlie  Goths. 
They  passed  through  the  gate,  and  arriving  at  the  plot  of 
ground  in  front  of  the  house,  paused  for  a  moment  to  look 
around  them. 

The  meadows  had  been  already  stripped  of  their  grass  and 
the  young  trees  of  their  branches,  by  ilie  foragers  of  the  in- 
vading army,  but  here  the  destruction  of  the  little  property 
had  been  stayed.  The  house,  with  its  neat  thatched  roof 
and  shutters  of  variegated  wood — the  garden,  with  its  small 
stock  of  fruit  and  its  carefully  tended  beds  of  rare  flowers, 
designed  probably  to  grace  the  feast  of  a  nobleman  or  the 
statue  of  a  martyr,  had  presented  no  allurements  to  the 
rough  tastes  of  Alaric's  soldiery.  Not  a  mark  of  a  footstep 
appeared  on  the  turf  before  the  house  door;  the  ivy  crept  in 
its  wonted  luxuriance  about  the  pillars  of  the  lowly  porch  ; 
and  as  Hermanric  and  Antonina  walked  toward  the  fish-pond 
at  the  extremity  of  the  garden,  the  few  water-fowl  placed 
there  by  the  owners  of  the  cottage  came  swimming  toward 
the  bank,  as  if  to  welcome  in  their  solitude  the  appearance 
of  a  human  form. 

Far  from  being  melancholy,  there  was  something  soothing 
and  attractive  about  the  loneliness  of  the  deserted  fiirm.  Its 
ravaged  outhouses  and  plundered  meadows,  which  might 
have  appeared  desolate  by  day,  were  so  distanced,  softened, 
and  obscured  by  the  atmosphere  of  night,  that  they  present- 
ed no  harsh  contrast  to  the  prevailing  smoothness  and  lux- 
uriance of  the  landscape  around.  As  Antonina  beheld  the 
brightened  fields  and  the  shadowed  woods,  here  mingled, 
there  succeeding -each  other,  stretched  far  onward  and  on- 
ward until  they  joined  the  distant  mountains,  that  eloquent 
voice  of  natui-e,  whose  audience  is  the  human  heart  and 
whose  theme  is  eternal  love,  spoke  inspiringly  to  her  atten- 
tive senses.     She  stretched  out  her  arms  as  she  looked  with 


ANTONINA;  OB,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         221 

Steady  and  enraptured  gaze  upon  the  bright  view  before  her, 
as  if  siie  longed  to  see  its  beauties  resolved  into  a  single  and 
living  form^ — into  a  spirit  human  enough  to  be  addressed 
and  visible  enough  to  be  adort'd. 

"Beautiful  earth!"  she  murmured  softly  to  herself,  "  thy 
mountains  are  the  watch-towers  of  angels,  thy  moonlight  is 
the  shadow  of  God!" 

Her  eyes  filled  with  bright,  happy  tears;  she  turned  to 
Hermanrio,  who  stood  watcliing  her,  and  continued: 

"Have  you  never  thought  that  light,  and  air,  and  the  per- 
fume of  flowers  miglit  contain  some  relics  of  the  beauties  of 
Eden  that  escaped  with  Eve,  when  she  wandered  into  the 
lonely  world?  TJiey  glowed  and  breathed  for  //er,  and  she 
lived  and  was  beautiful  in  tliem.  They  were  united  to  one 
another  as  the  sunbeam  is  united  to  the  earth  that  it  warms; 
and  could  the  sword  of  the  cherubim  have  sundered  them 
at  once?  When  Eve  went  forth,  did  the  closed  gales  shut 
back  in  the  empty  Paradise  all  the  beauty  that  had  clung 
and  grown  and  shone  round  her?  Did  no  ray  of  her  native 
light  steal  forth  after  her  into  the  desolateness  of  the  world  ? 
Did  no  print  of  lier  lost  flowers  remain  on  the  bosom  they 
must  once  have  pressed  ?  It  can  not  be !  A  part  of  her 
possessions  of  Eden  must  have  been  spared  to  her  with  a 
part  of  her  life.  She  must  have  refined  the  void  air  of  the 
earth,  when  she  entered  it,  with  a  breath  of  the  fragrant 
breezes  and  a  gleam  of  the  truant  sunshine  of  her  lost  Para- 
dise I  They  must  have  strengthened  and  brightened,  and 
must  now  be  strengthening  and  brightening  with  the  slow 
lapse  of  mortal  years,  until,  in  the  time  when  earth  itself 
will  be  an  Eden,  they  shall  be  made  one  again  with  the  hid- 
den world  of  perfection,  from  which  they  are  yet  separated. 
So  that,  even  now,  as  I  look  forth  over  the  landscape,  the 
light  that  I  behold  has  in  it  a  glow  of  Paradise,  and  this 
flower  that  I  gather,  a  breath  of  the  fragrance  that  once 
stole  over  the  senses  of  my  first  mother,  Eve!" 

Though  she  paused  here,  as  if  in  expectation  of  an  answer, 
the  Goth  preserved  an  unbroken  silence.  Neither  by  na- 
ture nor  position  was  he  capable  of  partaking  the  wild  fan- 
cies and  aspiring  thoughts  drawn  by  the  influences  of  the 
external  world  from  their  concealment  in  Antoiiina's  heart. 

The  mystery  of  his  present  situation ;  his  vague  remem- 


222         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

brances  of  the  duties  he  had  abandoned ;  the  uncertainty  of 
his  future  fortunes  and  future  fate ;  the  presence  of  the  lone- 
ly being  so  inseparably  connected  with  his  past  emotions 
and  his  existence  to  come,  so  strangely  attractive  by  her 
sex,  her  age,  her  person,  her  misfortunes,  and  her  endow- 
ments ;  all  contributed  to  bewilder  his  faculties.  Goisvin- 
tha,  the  army,  the  besieged  city,  the  abandoned  suburbs, 
seemed  to  hem  him  in  like  a  circle  of  shadowy  and  threaten- 
ing judgments;  and  in  the  midst  of  them  stood  the  young 
denizen  of  Rome,  with  her  eloquent  countenance  and  her 
inspiring  words,  ready  to  hurry  him,  he  knew  not  whither, 
and  able  to  influence  him,  he  felt  not  how. 

Unconsciously  interpreting  her  companion's  silence  into 
a  wish  to  change  the  scene  and  the  discourse,  Antonina, 
after  lingering  over  the  view  from  the  garden  for  a  moment 
longer,  led  the  way  back  toward  the  untenanted  house. 
They  removed  the  wooden  padlock  from  the  door  of  the 
dwelling,  and  guided  by  the  brilliant  moonlight,  entered  its 
principal  apartment. 

The  homely  adornments  of  the  little  room  had  remained 
undisturbed,  and,  dimly  distinguishable  though  they  now 
were,  gave  it  to  the  eyes  of  the  two  strangers  the  same  as- 
pect of  humble  comfort  which  had  probably  once  endeared 
it  to  its  exiled  occupants.  As  Herninnric  seated  himself  by 
Antonina's  side  on  the  simple  couch  which  made  the  princi- 
pal piece  of  furniture  in  the  place,  and  looked  forth  from 
the  window  over  the  same  view  that  they  had  beheld  in  the 
garden,  the  magic  stillness  and  novelty  of  the  scene  now 
began  to  affect  his  slow  perceptions,  as  they  had  already 
influenced  the  finer  and  more  sensitive  faculties  of  the 
thoughtful  girl.  New  hopes  and  tranquil  ideas  arose  in  his 
young  mind,  and  communicated  an  unusual  gentleness  to 
his  expression,  an  unusual  softness  to  his  voice,  as  he  thus 
addressed  his  silent  companion  : 

"  With  such  a  home  as  this — with  this  garden,  with  that 
country  beyond,  with  no  warfare,  no  stern  teachers,  no  en- 
emy to  threaten  you,  with  companions  and  occupations 
that  you  loved — tell  me,  Antonina,  would  not  your  happi- 
ness be  complete?" 

As  he  looked  round  at  the  girl  to  listen  to  her  reply,  he 
saw  that  her  countenance  had  changed.     Their  past  expres- 


ANTOXTXA ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  ROME.         223 

sion  of  deep  grief  had  again  returned  to  her  features.  Her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  short  dagger  that  hung  over  the 
Goth's  breast,  which  seemed  to  have  suddenly  aroused  in 
her  a  train  of  melancholy  and  unwelcome  thoughts.  When 
she  at  length  spoke,  it  was  in  a  mournful  and  altered  voice, 
and  with  a  mingled  expression  of  resignation  and  despair. 

"You  must  leave  me  —  we  must  be  parted  again,"  said 
she ;  "  the  sight  of  your  weapons  has  reminded  me  of  all  that 
until  now  I  had  forgotten,  of  all  that  I  have  left  in  Rome, 
of  all  that  you  have  abandoned  before  the  city  walls.  Once 
I  thought  we  might  have  escaped  together  from  the  turmoil 
and  the  danger  around  us,  but  now  I  know  that  it  is  better 
that  you  should  depart !  Alas !  for  my  hopes  and  my  hap- 
piness, I  must  be  left  alone  once  more  !" 

She  paused  for  an  instant,  struggling  to  retain  her  self- 
possession,  and  then  continued : 

"  Yes,  you  must  quit  me,  and  return  to  your  post  before 
the  city ;  for  in  the  day  of  assault  there  will  be  none  to  care 
for  my  father  but  you  !  Until  I  know  that  he  is  safe,  until 
I  can  see  him  once  more,  and  ask  him  for  pardon,  and  en- 
treat him  for  love,  I  dare  not  remove  from  the  perilous  pre- 
cincts of  Rome !  Return,  then,  to  your  duties,  and  your 
companions,  and  your  occupations  of  martial  renown ;  and 
do  not  forget  Numerian  when  the  city  is  assailed,  nor  An- 
tonina,  who  is  left  to  think  on  you  in  the  solitary  plains !" 

She  rose  from  her  place,  as  if  to  set  the  example  of  de- 
parting; but  her  strength  and  resolution  both  failed  her, 
and  she  sank  down  again  on  the  couch,  incapable  of  making 
another  movement  or  uttering  another  word. 

Strong  and  conflicting  emotions  passed  over  the  heart 
of  the  Goth,  The  language  of  the  girl  had  quickened  the 
remembrance  of  his  half- forgotten  duties,  and  strengthen- 
ed the  failing  influence  of  his  old  predilections  of  education 
and  race.  Both  conscience  and  inclination  now  opposed  his 
disputing  her  urgent  and  unselfish  request.  For  a  few  min- 
utes he  remained  in  deep  reflection ;  then  he  rose  and  look- 
ed earnestly  from  the  window ;  then  back  again  upon  Anto- 
nina  and  the  room  they  occupied.  At  length,  as  if  animated 
by  a  sudden  determination,  he  again  approached  his  com- 
panion, and  thus  addressed  her: 

"It  is  right  that  I  should  return.     I  will  do  your  bidding, 


224  ANTONINA  ;    OB,  THE    FALL    OF   KOME. 

and  depart  for  the  camp  (but  not  till  the  break  of  day),  while 
you,  Antonina,  remain  in  concealment  and  in  safety  here. 
None  can  come  hither  to  disturb  you.  The  Goths  will  not 
revisit  the  fields  they  have  already  stripped;  the  husband- 
man who  owns  this  dwelling  is  imprisoned  in  the  beleaguer- 
ed city;  the  peasants  from  the  country  beyond  dare  not 
approach  so  near  to  the  invading  hosts;  and  Goisvintha, 
whom  you  dread,  knows  not  even  of  the  existence  of  such  a 
refuge  as  this.  Here,  though  lonely,  you  will  be  secure ; 
here  you  can  await  my  return,  when  each  succeeding  night 
gives  me  the  opportunity  of  departing  from  the  camp ;  and 
here  I  will  warn  you  beforehand,  if  the  city  is  devoted  to 
an  assault.  Though  solitary,  you  will  not  be  abandoned — 
we  shall  not  be  parted  one  from  the  other.  Often  and  often 
I  shall  return  to  look  on  you,  and  to  listen  to  you,  and  to 
love  you  !  You  will  be  happier  here,  even  in  this  lonely 
place,  than  in  the  former  home  that  you  have  lost  through 
your  father's  wrath  !" 

"  Oh  !  I  will  willingly  remain — I  will  joyfully  await  you  !" 
cried  the  girl,  raising  lier  beaming  eyes  to  Hermanric's  face. 
"  I  will  never  speak  mournfully  to  you  again  ;  I  will  never 
remind  you  more  of  all  that  I  have  suffered,  and  all  that  I 
have  lost !  How  merciful  you  were  to  me,  when  I  first  saw 
you  in  your  tent — how  doubly  merciful  you  are  to  me  here  ! 
I  am  proud  when  I  look  on  your  stature,  and  your  strength, 
and  your  heavy  weapons,  and  know  that  you  are  happy  in 
remaining  with  me;  that  you  will  succor  my  father;  that 
you  will  return  from  your  glittering  encampments  to  this 
farm-house,  where  I  am  left  to  await  you.  Already  I  have 
forgotten  all  that  has  happened  to  me  of  woe  ;  already  I  am 
more  joyful  than  ever  I  was  in  my  life  before !  See,  I  am 
no  longer  weeping  in  sorrow  !  If  there  are  any  tears  still 
on  my  cheeks,  they  are  the  tears  of  gladness  that  every  one 
welcomes — tears  to  sing  and  rejoice  in  !" 

She  ceased  abruptly,  as  if  words  failed  to  give  expression 
to  her  new  delight.  All  the  gloomy  emotions  that  had  op- 
pressed her  but  a  short  time  before  had  now  completely 
vanished ;  and  the  young,  fresh  heart,  superior  still  to  de- 
spair and  woe,  basked  as  happily  again  in  its  native  atmos- 
phere of  joy  as  a  bird  in  the  sunlight  of  morning  and  spring. 

Then,  when  after  an  interval  of  delay  their  former  tran- 


ANTONINA  ;    OE,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  225 

quillity  had  returned  to  them,  how  softly  and  lightly  the 
quiet  hours  of  the  remaining  night  flowed  onward  to  the 
two  watchers  in  the  lonely  house!  How  gladly  the  delight- 
ed girl  disclosed  her  hidden  thoughts,  and  poured  forth  her 
innocent  confessions,  to  the  dweller  among  other  nations 
and  the  child  of  other  impressions  than  her  own  !  All  the 
various  reflections  aroused  in  her  mind  by  the  natural  ob- 
jects she  had  secretly  studied,  by  the  mighty  imagery  of 
her  Bible  lore,  by  the  gloomy  histories  of  saints'  visions  and 
martyrs'  sufierings,  which  she  had  learned  and  pondered 
over  by  her  father's  side,  were  now  drawn  from  their  treas- 
ured places  in  her  memory  and  addressed  to  the  ear  of  the 
Goth.  As  the  child  flies  to  the  nurse  with  the  story  of  its 
first  toy ;  as  the  girl  resorts  to  the  sister  with  the  confes- 
sion of  her  first  love;  as  the  poet  hurries  to  the  friend  with 
the  plan  of  his  first  composition ;  so  did  Antonina  seek  the 
attention  of  Hermanric  with  the  first  outward  revealings 
enjoyed  by  her  faculties  and  the  first  acknowledgment  of 
her  emotions  liberated  from  her  heart. 

The  longer  the  Goth  listened  to  her,  the  more  perfect  be- 
came the  enchantment  of  her  words  half  struggling  into 
poetry,  and  her  voice  half  gliding  into  music.  As  her 
low,  still  varying  tones  wound  smoothly  into  his  ear,  his 
thoughts  suddenly  and  intuitively  reverted  to  her  formerly 
expressed  remembrances  of  her  lost  lute,  inciting  him  to  ask 
her  with  new  interest  and  animation,  of  the  manner  of  her 
acquisition  of  that  knowledge  of  song  which  she  had  al- 
ready assured  him  that  she  possessed. 

"  I  have  learned  many  odes  of  many  poets,"  said  she, 
quickly  and  confusedly,  avoiding  the  mention  of  Vetranio, 
which  a  direct  answer  to  Hermanric's  question  must  have 
produced,  "but  I  remember  none  perfectly,  save  those  whose 
theme  is  of  spirits  and  of  other  worlds,  and  of  the  invisible 
beauty  that  we  think  of  but  can  not  see.  Of  the  few  that 
I  know  of  these,  there  is  one  that  I  first  learned  and  loved 
most.  I  will  sing  it,  that  you  may  be  assured  I  will  not  fail 
to  you  in  my  promised  art." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Sorrowful  remembrances  of 
the  events  that  had  followed  the  utterance  of  the  last  notes 
she  sang  in  her  father's  garden  swelled  within  her  and  held 
her  speechless.     Soon,  however,  after  a  short  interval  of  si- 

10* 


226         ANTOKINA  ;  OK,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

lence,  she  recovered  her  self-possession,  and  began  to  sing,  in 
low,  tremulous  tones,  that  harmonized  well  with  the  char- 
acter of  the  words  and  the  strain  of  the  melody  which  she 
had  chosen. 

THE  MISSION  OF  THE  TEAR. 
I. 

The  skies  were  its  birthplace — the  Tear  was  the  child 
Of  the  dark  maiden  Sorrow,  by  young  Joy  beguil'd ; 
It  was  bom  in  convulsion ;  'twas  nurtured  in  woe ; 
And  the  world  was  yet  young  when  it  wander'd  below. 

n. 

No  angel-bright  guardians  watch'd  over  its  birth, 
Ere  yet  it  was  suffer'd  to  roam  upon  earth  ; 
No  spirits  of  gladness  its  soft  form  caress'd  ; 
Sighs  mourn 'd  round  its  cradle,  and  hushd  it  to  rest. 

III. 
Though  Joy  might  endeavor,  with  kisses  and  wiles, 
To  lure  it  away  to  his  household  of  smiles  ; 
From  the  daylight  he  lived  in,  it  turn'd  in  affright. 
To  nestle  with  Sorrow  in  climates  of  night. 

IV. 

When  it  came  upon  earth,  'twas  to  choose  a  career, 
The  brightest  and  best  that  is  left  to  a  Tkar  : 
To  hallow  delight,  and  bestow  the  relief 
Denied  by  despair  to  the  fullness  of  grief. 

V. 

Few  repell'd  it — some  bless'd  it — wherever  it  came, 
Whether  soft'ning  their  sorrow,  or  soothing  their  shame ; 
And  the  joyful  themselves,  though  its  name  they  might  fear, 
Oft  welcom'd  the  calming  approach  of  the  Tear. 

VI. 

Years  on  years  have  worn  onward,  as — watch'd  from  above — 
Speeds  that  meek  spirit  yet  on  its  labor  of  love  : 
Still  the  exile  of  Heav'n,  it  ne'er  shall  away, 
Every  heart  has  a  home  for  it,  roam  where  it  may ! 

For  the  first  few  minutes  after  she  had  concluded  the 
ode,  Hermanric  was  hardly  conscious  that  she  had  ceased ; 
and  when  at  length  she  looked  up  at  him,  her  mute  petition 
for  approval  had  an  eloquence  which  would  have  been  mar- 
red to  the  Goth  at  that  moment  by  the  utterance  of  a  sin- 
gle word.    A  rapture,  an  inspiration,  a  new  life  moved  with- 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  kome.  227 

in  him.  The  hour  and  the  scene  completed  what  the  magic 
of  the  soug  had  begun.  His  expressions  now  glowed  with 
a  southern  warmth;  his  words  assumed  a  Roman  fervor. 
Gradually,  as  they  discoursed,  the  voice  of  the  girl  was  less 
frequefltly  audible.  A  change  was  passing  over  her  spirit: 
from  the  teacher,  she  was  now  becoming  the  pupil. 

As  she  still  listened  to  the  Goth,  as  she  felt  the  birth  of 
new  feelings  within  her  while  he  spoke,  her  cheeks  glowed, 
her  features  lightened  up,  her  very  form  seemed  to  freshen 
and  expand.  Xo  intruding  thought  or  awakening  remem- 
brance disturbed  her  rapt  attention.  No  cold  doubt,  no 
gloomy  hesitation,  appeared  in  her  companion's  words.  The 
one  listened,-  the  other  spoke,  with  the  whole  heart,  the  un- 
divided soul.  While  a  world-wide  revolution  was  concen- 
trating its  hurricane  forces  around  them;  while  the  city  of 
an  empire  tottered  already  to  its  tremendous  fall;  while 
Goisvintha  plotted  new  revenge;  while  Ulpins  toiled  for 
his  revolution  of  bloodshed  and  ruin ;  while  all  these  dark 
materials  of  public  misery  and  private  strife  seethed  and 
strengthened  around  them,  they  could  as  completely  forget 
the  stormy  outward  world,  in  themselves;  they  could. think 
as  serenely  of  tranquil  love ;  the  kiss  could  be  given  as  pas- 
sionately and  returned  as  tenderly,  as  if  the  lot  of  their  ex- 
istence had  been  cast  in  the  pastoral  days  of  the  shepherd 
poets,  and  the  future  of  their  duties  and  enjoyments  was 
securely  awaiting  them  in  a  land  of  eternal  peace  I 


CHAPTER  XrV. 

THE  FAMINE. 

The  end  of  November  is  approaching.  Nearly  a  month 
has  elapsed  since  the  occurrence  of  the  events  mentioned  in 
the  last  chapter,  yet  still  the  Gothic  lines  stretch  around  the 
city  walls.  Rome,  that  we  left  haughty  and  luxurious  even 
while  ruin  threatened  her  at  her  gates,  has  now  suffered  a 
terrible  and  warning  change.  As  we  approach  her  again, 
woe,  horror,  and  desolation  have  already  gone  forth  to  shad- 
ow her  lofty  palaces  and  to  darken  her  brilliant  streets. 

Over  Pomp  that  spurned  it,  over  Pleasure  that  defied  it, 


228  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF    ROME, 

over  Plenty  that  scared  it  in  its  secret  rounds,  the  spectre 
Hunger  has  now  risen  triumphant  at  last.  Day  by  day  has 
the  city's  insufficient  allowance  of  food  been  more  and  more 
sparingly  doled  out;  liigher  and  higher  has  risen  the  value 
of  the  coarsest  and  sim})lest  provision;  the  hoarded  supplies 
that  pity  and  charity  have  already  bestowed  to  cheer  the 
sinking  people  have  reached  their  utmost  limits.  For  the 
rich  there  is  still  corn  in  the  city — treasure  of  food  to  be 
bartered  for  treasure  of  gold.  For  the  poor,  man's  natural 
nourishment  exists  no  more ;  the  season  of  famine's  loath- 
some feasts,  the  first  days  of  the  sacrifice  of  choice  to  neces- 
sity, have  darkly  and  irretrievably  begun. 

It  is  morning.  A  sad  and  noiseless  throng  is  advancing 
over  the  cold  flag-stones  of  the  Great  Square,  before  the  Ba- 
silica of  St.  John  Lateran.  The  members  of  the  assembly 
speak  in  whispers.  The  weak  are  tearful — the  strong  are 
gloomy — they  all  move  with  slow  and  languid  gait,  and  hold 
in  their  arms  their  dogs  or  other  domestic  animals.  On  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd  march  the  enfeebled  guards  of  the 
city,  grasping  in  their  rough  hands  rare,  favorite  birds  of 
gaudy  plumage  and  melodious  note,  and  followed  by  chil- 
dren and  young  girls  vainly  and  piteously  entreating  that 
their  favorites  may  be  i-estored. 

This  strange  procession  pauses,  at  length,  before  a  mighty 
caldron  slung  over  a  great  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  square, 
round  which  stand  the  city  butchers  with  bare  knives,  and 
the  trustiest  men  of  the  Roman  legions  with  threatening 
weapons.  A  proclamation  is  then  repeated,  commanding 
the  populace  who  have  no  money  left  to  purchase  food,  to 
bring  up  their  domestic  animals  to  be  boiled  together  over 
the  public  furnace,  for  the  sake  of  contributing  to  the  pub- 
lic support. 

The  next  minute,  in  pursuance  of  this  edict,  the  dumb  fa- 
vorites of  the  crowd  passed  from  the  owner's  caressing  hand 
into  the  butcher's  ready  grasp.  The  faint  cries  of  the  ani- 
mals, starved  like  their  masters,  mingled  for  a  few  moments 
with  the  sobs  and  lamentations  of  the  women  and  children 
to  whom  the  greater  part  of  them  belonged.  For  in  this, 
the  first  stage  of  their  calamities,  that  severity  of  hunger 
which  extinguishes  pity  and  estranges  grief  was  unknown 
to  the  populace ;  and  though  fast  losing  spirit,  they  had  not 


ANTONINA  ;  OE,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         229 

yet  sunk  to  the  depths  of  ferocious  despair  which  even  now 
were  invisibly  opening  between  them.  A  thousand  pangs 
were  felt,  a  thousand  humble  tragedies  were  acted  in  the 
brief  moments  of  separation  between  guardian  and  charge. 
The  child  snatched  its  last  kiss  of  the  bird  tliat  had  sung 
over  its  bed ;  the  dog  looked  its  last  entreaty  for  protection 
from  the  mistress  who  had  once  never  met  it  without  a  ca- 
ress. Then  came  the  short  interval  of  agony  and  death, 
then  the  steam  rose  fiercely  from  the  greedy  caldron,  and 
then  the  people  for  a  time  dispersed;  the  sorrowful  to  linger 
near  the  ccntines  of  the  fire,  and  the  hungry  to  calm  their 
impatience  by  a  visit  to  the  neighboring  church. 

The  marble  aisles  of  the  noble  Basilica  held  a  gloomy  con- 
gregation. Three  small  candles  were  alone  lighted  on  the 
high  altar.  No  sweet  voices  sang  melodious  anthems  or  ex- 
ulting hymns.  The  monks,  in  hoarse  tones  and  monotonous 
harmonies,  chanted  the  penitential  psalms.  Here  and  there 
knelt  a  figure  clothed  in  mourning  robes  and  absorbed  in 
secret  prayer,  but  over  the  majority  of  the  assembly  either 
blank  despondency  or  sullen  inattention  universally  prevailed. 

As  the  last  dull  notes  of  the  last  psalm  died  away  among 
the  lofty  recesses  of  the  church,  a  procession  of  pious  Chris- 
tians appeared  at  the  door  and  advanced  slowly  to  the  altar. 
It  was  composed  both  of  men  and  women  barefooted,  clothed 
in  black  garments,  and  with  ashes  scattered  over  their  dis- 
heveled hair.  Tears  flowed  from  their  eyes,  and  they  beat 
their  breasts  as  they  bowed  their  foreheads  on  the  marble 
pavement  of  the  altar  steps. 

This  humble  public  expression  of  penitence  under  the  ca- 
lamity that  had  now  fallen  on  the  city  was,  however,  con- 
fined only  to  its  few  really  religions  inhabitants,  and  com- 
manded neither  sympathy  nor  attention  from  the  heartless 
and  obstinate  population  of  Rome.  Some  still  cherished  the 
delusive  hope  of  assistance  from  the  Court  at  Ravenna;  oth- 
ers believed  that  the  Goths  would  ere  long  impatiently 
abandon  their  protracted  blockade,  to  stretch  their  ravages 
over  the  rich  and  unprotected  fields  of  Southern  Italy.  But 
the  same  blind  confidence  in  the  lost  terrors  of  the  Roman 
name,  the  sani-j  fierce  and  reckless  determination  to  defy 
the  Goths  to  tlio  very  last,  sustained  the  sinking  courage 
and  suppress!."(l  ihe  despondent  emotions  of  the  great  mass 


230  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

of  the  suffering  people,  from  the  beggar  who  prowled  for 
garbage,  to  the  patrician  who  sighed  over  his  new  and  un- 
welcome nourishment  of  simple  bread. 

While  the  penitents  who  formed  the  procession  above  de- 
scribed were  yet  engaged  in  the  performance  of  their  unno- 
ticed and  unshared  duties  of  penance  and  prayer,  a  priest 
ascended  the  great  pulpit  of  the  Basilica,  to  attempt  the  un- 
grateful task  of  preaching  patience  and  piety  to  the  hungry 
multitude  at  his  feet. 

He  began  his  sermon  by  retracing  the  principal  occur- 
rences in  Rome  since  the  beginning  of  the  Gothic  blockade. 
He  touched  cautiously  upon  the  first  event  that  stained  the 
annals  of  the  besieged  city — the  execution  of  the  widow  of 
the  Roman  general,  Stilicho,  on  the  unauthorized  suspicion 
that  she  had  held  treasonable  communication  with  Alaric 
and  the  invading  army ;  he  noticed  lengthily  the  promises 
of  assistance  transmitted  from  Ravenna,  after  the  perpetra- 
tion of  that  ill-omened  act.  He  spoke  admiringly  of  the 
skill  displayed  by  the  Government  in  making  the  necessary 
and  immediate  reductions  in  the  daily  supplies  of  food ;  he 
lamented  the  terrible  scarcity  which  followed,  too  inevita- 
bly, those  seasonable  reductions.  He  pronounced  an  elo- 
quent eulogium  on  the  noble  charity  of  La3ta,  the  widow  of 
the  Emperor  Gratian,  who,  with  her  mother,  devoted  the 
store  of  provisions  obtained  by  their  imperial  revenues  to 
succoring,  at  that  important  juncture,  the  starving  and  de- 
sponding poor.  He  admitted  the  new  scarcity  consequent  on 
the  dissipation  of  Laeta's  stores ;  deplored  the  present  neces- 
sity of  sacrificing  the  domestic  animals  of  the  citizens ;  con- 
demned the  enormous  prices  now  demanded  for  the  last 
remnants  of  wholesome  food  that  were  garnered  up;  an- 
nounced it  as  the  firm  persuasion  of  every  one  that  a  few 
days  more  would  bring  help  from  Ravenna;  and  ended  his 
address  by  informing  his  auditory  that,  as  they  had  suffered 
so  much  already,  they  could  patiently  suffer  a  little  more ; 
and  that  if  after  this  they  were  so  ill-fated  as  to  sink  under 
their  calamities,  they  would  feel  it  a  noble  consolation  to  die 
in  the  cause  of  Catholic  and  Apostolic  Rome,  and  would  as- 
suredly be  canonized  as  saints  and  martyrs  by  the  next  gen- 
eration of  the  pious  in  the  first  interval  of  fertile  and  restor- 
ing peace. 


ANTONINA ;  OE,  THE  FALL  OP  ROME.         231 

Flowing  as  was  the  eloquence  of  this  oration,  it  yet  pos- 
sessed not  the  power  of  inducing  one  among  those  whom  it 
addressed  to  forget  the  sensation  of  his  present  suffering, 
and  to  fix  his  attention  on  the  vision  of  future  advantage 
spread  before  all  listeners  by  the  fluent  priest.  With  the 
same  murmurs  of  querulous  complaint,  and  the  same  expres- 
sions of  impotent  hatred  and  defiance  of  the  Goths,  which 
had  fallen  from  them  as  they  entered  the  church,  the  popu- 
lace now  departed  from  it,  to  receive  from  the  city  officers 
the  stinted  allowance  of  repugnant  food  prepared  for  their 
hunger  from  the  caldron  in  the  public  square. 

And  see,  already  from  other  haunts  in  the  neighboring 
quarter  of  Rome  their  fellow-citizens  press  onward  at  the 
given  signal,  to  meet  them  round  the  caldron's  sides  !  The 
languid  sentinel,  released  from  duty,  turns  his  gaze  from  the 
sickening  prospect  of  the  Gothic  camp,  and  hastens  to  share 
the  public  meal ;  the  baker  starts  from  sleeping  on  his 
empty  counter,  the  beggar  rises  from  his  kennel  in  the 
butcher's  vacant  outhouse,  the  slave  deserts  his  place  by  the 
smouldering  kitchen  fire — all  hurry  to  swell  the  numbers  of 
the  guests  that  are  bidden  to  the  wretched  feast.  Rapidly 
and  confusedly  the  congregation  in  the  Basilica  pours  through 
its  lofty  gates;  the  priests  and  penitents  retire  from  the 
altar's  foot ;  and  in  the  great  church,  so  crowded  but  a  few 
moments  before,  there  now  only  remains  the  figure  of  a  sol- 
itary man. 

Since  the  commencement  of  the  service,  neither  addressed 
nor  observed,  this  lonely  being  has  faltered  round  the  circle 
of  the  congregation,  gazing  long  and  wistfully  over  the  faces 
that  met  his  view.  Xow  that  the  sermon  is  ended  and  the 
last  lingerer  has  quitted  the  church,  he  turns  froni  the  spot 
whence  he  has  anxiously  watched  the  different  members  of 
the  departing  throng,  and  feebly  crouches  down  on  his  knees 
at  the  base  of  a  pillar  that  is  near  him.  His  eyes  are  hollow 
and  his  cheeks  are  wan ;  his  thin  gray  hairs  are  few  and 
fading  on  his  aged  head.  He  makes  no  effort  to  follow  the 
crowd  and  partake  their  sustenance;  no  one  is  left  behind 
to  urge,  no  one  returns  to  lead  him  to  the  public  meal. 
Though  weak  and  old,  he  is  perfectly  forsaken  in  his  loneli- 
ness, perfectly  unsolaced  in  his  grief;  his  friends  have  lost 
all  trace  of  him :  his  enemies  hav-e  ceased  to  fear  or  to  hate 


232  ANTONINA  ;    OB,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

him  now.  As  he  crouches  by  the  pillar  alone,  he  covers  his 
forehead  with  his  pale,  palsied  hands,  his  dim  eyes  fill  with 
bitter  tears,  and  such  expressions  as  these  are  ever  and  anon 
faintly  audible  in  the  intervals  of  his  heavy  sighs  :  "  Day  af- 
ter day !  Day  after  day  !  And  my  lost  one  is  not  found  ! 
my  loved  and  wronged  one  is  not  restored  !  Antonina ! 
Antonina !" 

Some  days  after  the  public  distribution  of  food  in  the 
square  of  St.  John  Lateran,  Vetranio's  favorite  freedman 
might  have  been  observed  pursuing  his  way  homeward,  sad- 
ly and  slowly,  to  his  master's  palace. 

It  was  not  without  cause  that  the  pace  of  the  intelligent 
Carrio  was  funereal  and  his  expression  disconsolate.  Even 
during  the  short  period  that  had  elapsed  since  the  scene  in 
the  Basilica  already  described,  the  condition  of  the  city  had 
altered  fearfully  for  the  worse.  The  famine  advanced  with 
giant  strides;  every  succeeding  hour  endued  it  with  new 
vigor,  every  effort  to  repel  it  served  but  to  increase  its 
spreading  and  overwhelming  influence.  One  after  another 
the  pleasures  and  pursuits  of  the  city  declined  beneath  the 
dismal  oppression  of  the  universal  ill,  until  the  public  spirit 
in  Rome  became  moved  alike  in  all  classes  by  one  gloomy 
inspiration  —  a  despairing  defiance  of  the  famine  and  the 
Goths. 

The  freedman  entered  his  master's  palace,  neither  saluted 
nor  welcomed  by  the  once  obsequious  slaves  in  the  outer 
lodge.  Neither  harps  nor  singing-boys,  neither  woman's 
ringing  laughter  nor  man's  bacchanalian  glee,  now  woke  the 
echoes  in  the  lonely  halls.  The  pulse  of  pleasure  seemed  to 
have  throbbed  its  last  in  the  joyless  being  of  Vetranio's 
altered  household. 

Hastening  his  steps  as  he  entered  the  mansion,  Carrio 
passed  into  the  chamber  where  the  senator  awaited  him. 

On  two  couches,  separated  by  a  small  table,  reclined  the 
lord  of  the  palace,  and  his  pupil  and  companion  at  Ravenna, 
the  once  sprightly  Camilla.  Vetranio's  open  brow  had  con- 
tracted a  clouded  and  severe  expression ;  and  he  neither  re- 
garded nor  addressed  his  visitor,  who,  on  her  part,  remained 
as  silent  and  as  melancholy  as  himself.  Every  trace  of  the 
former  characteristics  of  the  gay,  elegant  voluptuary  and  the 
lively,  prattling  girl  seemed  to  have  completely  vanished. 


ANTOJTIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   EOME.  233 

On  the  table  between  them  stood  a  large  bottle  containing 
Falernian  wine,  and  a  vase  filled  with  a  little  watery  soup, 
in  the  middle  of  which  floated  a  small  dough  cake,  sparingly 
sprinkled  with  common  herbs.  As  for  the  usual  accompani- 
ments of  Vetranio's  luxurious  privacy,  they  were  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  Poems,  pictures,  trinkets,  lutes,  all  were  absent. 
Even  the  "  inestimable  kitten  of  the  breed  most  worshiped 
by  the  ancient  Egyptians"  appeared  no  more.  It  had  been 
stolen,  cooked,  and  eaten  by  a  runaway  slave,  who  had  al- 
ready bartered  its  ruby  collar  for  a  lean  parrot  and  the  un- 
roasted  half  of  the  carcass  of  a  dog. 

"I  lament  to  confess  it,  oh  estimable  patron,  but  my  mis- 
sion has  failed,"  observed  Carrio,  producing  from  his  cloak 
several  bags  of  money  and  boxes  of  jewels,  which  he  care- 
fully deposited  on  the  table.  "The  prefect  has  himself  as- 
sisted in  searching  the  public  and  private  granaries,  and  has 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  not  a  handful  of  corn  is  left 
in  the  city.  I  offered  publicly  in  the  market-place  five  thou- 
sand sestertii  for  a  living  cock  and  hen,  but  was  told  that 
the  race  had  long  since  been  exterminated,  and  that,  as  mon- 
ey would  no  longer  buy  food,  money  was  no  longer  desired 
by  the  poorest  beggar  in  Rome.  There  is  no  more  even  of 
the  hay  I  yesterday  purchased  to  be  obtained  for  the  most 
extravagant  bribes.  Those  still  possessing  the  smallest  sup- 
plies of  provision  guard  and  hide  them  with  the  most  jeal- 
ous care.  I  have  done  nothing  but  obtain  for  the  consump- 
tion of  the  few  slaves  who  yet  remain  faithful  in  the  house 
this  small  store  of  dogs'  hides,  reserved  from  the  public  dis- 
tribution of  some  days  since  in  the  square  of  the  Basilica  of 
St.  John." 

And  the  freed  man,  with  an  air  of  mingled  triumph  and 
disgust,  produced  as  he  spoke  his  provision  of  dirty  skins. 

"  What  supplies  have  we  still  left  in  our  possession  ?"  de- 
manded Vetranio,  after  drinking  a  deep  draught  of  the  Fa- 
lernian, and  motioning  his  servant  to  place  his  treasured  bur- 
dens out  of  sight. 

"  I  have  hidden  in  a  secure  receptacle — for  I  know  not  how 
soon  hunger  may  drive  the  slaves  to  disobedience,"  rejoined 
Carrio,  "seven  bags  of  hay,  three  baskets  stocked  with  salt- 
ed horse-flesh,  a  sweetmeat-box  filled  with  oats,  and  another 
with  dried  parsley;  the  rare  Indian  singing-birds  are  still 


234  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

preserved  inviolate  iu  their  aviary,  there  is  a  great  store  of 
spices,  and  some  bottles  of  the  Nightingale  Sauce  yet  re- 
main." 

"  What  is  the  present  aspect  of  the  city  ?"  interrupted  Ve- 
tranio,  impatiently. 

"  Rome  is  as  gloomy  as  a  subterranean  sepulchre,"  replied 
Carrio,  with  a  shudder.  "  The  people  congregate  in  speech- 
less and  hungry  mobs  at  the  doors  of  their  houses  and  the 
corners  of  the  streets ;  the  sentinels  at  the  ramparts  totter 
on  their  posts;  women  and  children  are  sleeping  exhausted 
on  the  very  pavements  of  the  churches ;  the  theatres  are 
emptied  of  actors  and  audience  alike;  the  baths  resound 
with  cries  for  food  and  curses  on  the  Goths;  thefts  are  al- 
ready committed  in  the  open  and  unguarded  shops ;  and  the 
barbarians  remain  fixed  in  their  encampments,  unapproached 
by  our  promised  legions  from  Ravenna,  neither  assaulting 
us  in  our  weakness  nor  preparing  to  raise  the  blockade ! 
Our  situation  grows  more  and  more  perilous — I  have  great 
hopes  in  our  store  of  provisions ;  but — " 

"Cast  your  hopes  to  the  Court  at  Ravenna,  and  your 
beasts'  provender  to  the  howling  mob  !"  cried  Vetranio,  with 
sudden  energy.  "  It  is  now  too  late  to  yield ;  if  the  next 
few  days  bring  us  no  assistance,  the  city  will  be  a  human 
shamble !  And  think  you  that  I,  who  have  already  lost  in 
this  public  suspension  of  social  joys  my  pleasures,  my  em- 
ployments, and  my  companions,  will  wait  serenely  for  the 
lingering  and  ignoble  death  that  must  then  threaten  us  all  ? 
No !  it  shall  never  be  said  that  I  died  starving  with  the 
herd,  like  a  slave  that  his  master  deserts!  Though  the 
plates  in  my  banqueting-hall  must  now  be  empty,  my  vases 
and  wine-cups  shall  yet  sparkle  for  my  guests  I  There  is 
still  wine  in  the  cellar,  and  spices  and  perfumes  remain  in 
the  larder  stores.  I  will  invite  my  friends  to  a  last  feast ;  a 
saturnalia  in  a  city  of  famine;  a  banquet  of  death,  spread  by 
the  jovial  labors  of  Silenus  and  his  fauns  !  Though  the  Par- 
cae  have  woven  for  me  the  destiny  of  a  dog,  it  is  the  hand 
of  Bacchus  that  shall  sever  the  fatal  thread  !" 

His  cheeks  were  flushed,  his  eyes  sparkled,  all  the  mad  en- 
ergy of  his  determination  appeared  in  his  face  as  he  spoke. 
He  was  no  longer  the  light,  amiable,  smooth-tongued  trifler, 
but  a  moody,  reckless,  desperate  man,  careless  of  every  ob- 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         235 

ligation  and  pursuit  which  had  hitherto  influenced  the  easy- 
surface  of  his  patrician  life.  The  startled  Camilla,  who  had 
as  yet  preserved  a  melancholy  silence,  ran  toward  him  with 
affrighted  looks  and  undissembled  tears.  Carrio  stared  in 
vacant  astonishment  on  his  master's  disordered  countenance, 
and  forgetting  his  bundle  of  dog-skins,  suffered  them  to 
drop  unheeded  on  the  floor.  A  momentary  silence  followed, 
which  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  abrupt  entrance  of 
a  fourth  person,  pale,  trembling,  and  breathless,  who  was  no 
other  than  Vetranio's  former  visitor,  the  Prefect  Pompeianus. 

"Ibid  you  welcome  to  my  approaching  feast  of  brimming 
wine-cups  and  empty  dishes !"  cried  Vetranio,  pouring  the 
sparkling  Falernian  into  his  empty  glass,  "  The  last  banquet 
given  in  Rome  ere  the  city  is  annihilated,  will  be  mine! 
The  Goths  and  the  famine  shall  have  no  part  in  my  death  ! 
Pleasure  shall  preside  at  my  last  moments,  as  it  has  presided 
at  my  whole  life !  I  will  die  like  Sardanapalus,  with  ray 
loves  and  my  treasures  around  me;  and  the  last  of  my  guests 
who  remains  proof  against  our  festivity  shall  set  fire  to  my 
palace, as  the  kingly  Assyrian  set  fire  to  his!'''' 

'■^This  is  no  season  for  jesting,^"  exclaimed  the  prefect, 
staring  round  him  with  bewildered  eyes  and  colorless  checks. 
"  Our  miseries  are  but  dawning  as  yet !  In  the  next  street 
lies  the  corpse  of  a  woman,  and — horrible  omen  ! — a  coil  of 
serpents  is  wreathed  about  her  neck  !  We  have  no  burial- 
place  to  receive  her,  and  the  thousands  who  may  die  like 
her  ere  assistance  arrives !  The  city  sepulchres  outside  the 
walls  are  in  the  hands  of  the  Goths.  The  people  stand 
round  the  body  in  a  trance  of  horror,  for  they  have  now  dis- 
covered a  fatal  truth  we  would  fain  have  concealed  from 
them — "  Here  the  prefect  paused,  looked  round  affrightedly 
on  his  listeners,  and  then  added  in  low,  trembling  tones  : 

"  The  citizens  are  lying  dead  from  famine  in  the  streets  of 
Rome!" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  CITY  AND  THE  GODS. 


We  return  once  more  to  the  Gothic  encampment,  in  the 
suburbs  eastward  of  the  Pincian  Gate,  and  to  Herman ric 
and  the  warriors  under  his  command,  who  arc  still  posted 


236  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   KOME. 

at  that  particular  position  on  the  great  circle  of  the  block- 
ade. 

The  movements  of  the  young  chieftain  from  place  to  place, 
expressed,  in  their  variety  and  rapidity,  the  restlessness  that 
was  agitating  his  mind.  He  glanced  back  frequently  from 
the  warriors  around  hira  to  the  remote  and  opposite  quarter 
of  the  suburbs,  occasionally  directing  his  eyes  toward  the 
western  horizon,  as  if  anxiously  awaiting  the  approach  of 
some  particular  hour  of  the  coming  niglit.  Weary  at  length 
of  pursuing  occupations  which  evidently  irritated  rather 
than  soothed  his  impatience,  he  turned  abruptly  from  his 
companions,  and  advancing  toward  the  city,  paced  slowly 
backward  and  forward  over  the  waste  ground  between  the 
suburbs  and  the  walls  of  Rome. 

At  intervals  he  still  continued  to  examine  the  scene 
around  him.  A  more  dreary  prospect  than  now  met  his 
view,  whether  in  earth  or  sky,  can  hardly  be  conceived. 

The  dull  sunless  day  was  fast  cloi«ing,  and  the  portentous 
heaven  gave  promise  of  a  stormy  night.  Thick,  black  layers 
of  shapeless  cloud  hung  over  the  whole  firmament,  save  at 
the  western  point;  and  here  lay  a  streak  of  pale,  yellow 
light,  inclosed  on  all  sides  by  the  firm,  ungraduated,  irregu- 
lar edges  of  the  masses  of  gloomy  vapor  around  it.  A  deep 
silence  hung  over  the  whole  atmosphere.  The  wind  was 
voiceless  among  the  steady  trees.  The  stir  and  action  in 
the  being  of  nature  and  the  life  of  man  seemed  enthralled, 
suspended,  stifled.  The  air  was  laden  with  a  burdensome 
heat;  and  all  things  on  earth,  animate  and  inanimate,  felt 
the  oppression  that  weighed  on  them  from  the  higher  ele- 
ments. The  people,  who  lay  gasping  for  breath  in  the  fam- 
ine-stricken city,  and  the  blades  of  grass  that  drooped  lan- 
guidly on  the  dry  sward  beyond  the  walls,  owned  its  enfee- 
bling influence  alike. 

As  the  hours  wore  on,  and  night  stealthily  and  gradually 
advanced,  a  monotonous  darkness  overspread,  one  after  an- 
other, the  objects  discernible  to  Hermanric  from  the  soli- 
tary ground  he  still  occupied.  Soon  the  great  city  faded 
into  one  vast  impenetrable  shadow,  while  the  suburbs  and 
the  low  country  around  them  vanished  in  the  thick  darkness 
that  gathered  almost  perceptibly  over  the  earth.  And  now 
the  sole  object  distinctly  visible  was  the  figure  of  a  weary 


antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome,  237 

sentinel,  who  stood  on  the  frowning  rampart  immediately 
above  the  rifted  wall,  and  whose  drooping  figure,  propped 
upon  his  weapon,  was  indicated  in  hard  relief  against  the 
thin,  solitary  streak  of  light  still  shining  in  the  cold  and 
cloudy  wastes  of  the  western  sky. 

But  as  the  night  still  deepened,  this  one  space  of  light 
faded,  contracted,  vanished,  and  with  it  disappeared  the  sen- 
tinel and  the  line  of  rampart  on  which  he  was  posted.  The 
rule  of  the  darkness  now  became  universal.  Densely  and 
rapidly  it  overspread  the  whole  city  with  startling  sudden- 
ness;  as  if  the  fearful  destiny  now  working  its  fulfillment  in 
Rome  had  forced  the  external  appearances  of  the  night  into 
harmony  with  its  own  woeboding  nature. 

Then,  as  the  young  Goth  still  lingered  at  his  post  of  ob- 
servation, the  long,  low,  tremulous,  absorbing  roll  of  thun- 
der afar  oif  became  grandly  audible.  It  seemed  to  pro- 
ceed from  a  distance  almost  incalculable ;  to  be  sounding 
from  its  cradle  in  the  frozen  north;  to  be  journeying  about 
its  ice-girdled  chambers  in  the  lonely  poles.  It  deepened 
rather  than  interrupted  the  dreary,  mysterious  stillness  of 
the  atmosphere.  The  lightning,  too,  had  a  summer  soft- 
ness in  its  noiseless  and  frequent  gleam.  It  was  not  the 
fierce  lightning  of  winter,  but  a  warm,  fitful  brightness, 
almost  fascinating  in  its  light,  rapid  recurrence,  tinged  with 
the  glow  of  heaven,  and  not  with  the  glare  of  hell. 

There  was  no  wind — no  rain  ;  and  the  air  was  as  hushed 
as  if  it  slept  over  chaos  in  the  infancy  of  a  new  creation. 

Among  the  various  objects  displayed,  instant  by  instant, 
by  the  rapid  lightning  to  the  eyes  of  Hermanric,  the  most 
easily  and  most  distinctly  visible  was  the  broad  surface  of 
the  rifted  wall.  The  large,  loose  stones  scattered  here  and 
there  at  its  base,  and  the  overhanging  lid  of  its  broad  ram- 
part, became  plainly  though  fitfully  apparent  in  the  brief  mo- 
ments of  their  illumination.  The  lightning  had  played  for 
some  time  over  that  structure  of  the  fortifications,  and  the 
bare  ground  that  stretched  immediatelj'^  beyond  them,  when 
the  smooth  prospect  which  it  thus  gave  by  glimpses  to 
view  was  suddenly  checkered  by  a  flight  of  birds  appearing 
from  one  of  the  lower  divisions  of  the  wall,  and  flitting  un- 
easily to  and  fro  at  one  spot  before  its  surface. 

As   moment   after   moment   the    lisrhtninir   continued   to 


238  ANTONINA.;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME. 

gleam,  so  the  black  forms  of  the  birds  were  visible  to  the 
practiced  eye  of  the  Goth — perceptible,  yet  evanescent,  as 
sparks  of  fire  or  flakes  of  snow  —  whirling  confusedly  and 
continually  about  the  spot  whence  they  had  evidently  been 
startled  by  some  unimaginable  interruption.  At  length, 
after  a  lapse  of  some  time,  they  vanished  as  suddenly  as 
they  had  appeared,  with  shiill  notes  of  affright  which  were 
audible  even  above  the  continuous  rolling  of  the  thunder; 
and  immediately  afterward,  when  the  lightning  alternated 
with  the  darkness,  there  appeared  to  Hermanric  in  the  part 
of  the  wall  where  the  birds  had  been  first  disturbed  a  small 
red  gleam,  like  a  spark  of  fire  lodged  in  the  surface  of  the 
structure.  Then  this  was  lost :  a  longer  obscurity  than  us- 
ual prevailed  in  the  atmosphere ;  and  when  the  Goth  gazed 
eagerly  through  the  next  succession  of  flashes,  they  showed 
him  the  momentary  and  doubtful  semblance  of  a  human  fig- 
ure standing  erect  on  the  stones  at  the  base  of  the  wall. 

Hermanric  started  with  astonishment.  Again  the  light- 
ning ceased.  In  the  ardor  of  his  anxiety  to  behold  more, 
he  strained  his  eyes  with  the  vain  hope  of  penetrating  the 
obscurity  around  him.  The  darkness  seemed  interminable. 
Once  again  the  lightning  flashed  brilliantly  out.  He  look- 
ed eagerly  toward  the  wall — the  figure  was  still  there. 

His  heart  throbbed  quickly  within  him,  as  he  stood  irreso- 
lute on  the  spot  he  had  occupied  since  the  first  peal  of  thun- 
der had  struck  upon  his  ear.  Were  the  light  and  the  man 
— one  seen  but  for  an  instant,  the  other,  still  perceptible — 
mere  phantoms  of  his  erring  sight,  dazzled  by  the  quick  re- 
currence of  atmospheric  changes  through  which  it  had  act- 
ed? Or  did  he  indubitably  behold  a  human  form,  and  had 
he  really  observed  a  material  light?  Some  strange  treach- 
ery, some  dangerous  mystery,  might  be  engendering  in  the 
besieged  city,  which  it  would  be  his  duty  to  observe  and 
unmask.  He  drew  his  sword ;  and  at  the  risk  of  being  ob- 
served through  the  lightning  and  heard  during  the  pauses 
in  the  thunder  by  the  sentinel  on  the  wall,  resolutely  ad- 
vanced to  the  very  foot  of  the  fortifications  of  hostile  Rome. 

He  heard  no  sound,  perceived  no  light,  observed  no  fig- 
ure, as,  after  several  unsuccessful  attempts  to  reach  the 
place  where  they  stood,  he  at  length  paused  at  the  loose 
stones  which  he  knew  were  heaped  at  the  base  of  the  wall. 


antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome,  239 

The  next  moment  he  was  so  close  to  it  that  he  could  pass 
his  sword-point  over  parts  of  its  rugged  surface.  He  had 
scarcely  examined  thus  a  space  of  more  than  ten  yards,  be- 
fore his  weapon  encountered  a  sharp,  jagged  edge ;  and 
a  sudden  presentiment  assured  him  instantly  that  he  had 
found  the  spot  where  he  had  beheld  the  momentary  light, 
and  that  he  stood  on  the  same  stone  which  had  been  after- 
ward occupied  by  the  figure  of  the  man. 

After  an  instant's  hesitation,  he  was  about  to  mount 
higher  on  the  loose  stones,  and  examine  more  closely  the 
irregularity  he  had  just  discovered  in  the  wall,  when  a  viv- 
id flash  of  lightning,  unusually  prolonged,  showed  him,  ob- 
structing at  scarcely  a  yard's  distance  his  onward  path,  the 
figure  he  had  already  distantly  beheld  from  the  plain  be- 
hind. 

There  was  something  inexpressibly  fearful  in  his  viewless 
vicinity,  during  the  next  moment  of  darkness,  to  this  silent 
mysterious  form,  so  imperfectly  shown  by  the  lightning  that 
quivered  over  its  half-revealed  proportions.  Every  pulse 
in  the  body  of  the  Goth  seemed  to  pause  as  he  stood,  with 
ready  weapon,  looking  into  the  gloomy  darkness  and  wait- 
ing for  the  next  flash.  It  came,  and  displayed  to  him  the 
man's  fierce  eyes  glaring  steadily  down  upon  his  face;  an- 
other gleam,  and  he  beheld  his  haggard  finger  placed  upon 
his  lip  in  token  of  silence ;  a  third,  and  he  saw  the  arm  of 
the  figure  pointing  toward  the  plain  behind  him ;  and  then, 
in  the  darkness  that  followed,  a  hot  breath  played  upon  his 
ear,  and  a  voice  whispered  to  him,  through  a  pause  in  the 
rolling  of  the  thunder,  "Follow  me." 

The  next  instant  Hermanric  felt  the  momentary  contact 
of  the  man's  body,  as  with  noiseless  steps  he  passed  him 
on  the  stones.  It  was  no  time  to  deliberate  or  to  doubt. 
He  followed  close  upon  the  stranger's  footsteps,  gaining 
glimpses  of  his  dark  form  moving  onward  before,  whenever 
the  lightning  briefly  illuminated  the  scene,  until  they  ar- 
rived at  a  clump  of  trees,  not  far  distant  from  the  houses  in 
the  suburbs  that  were  occupied  by  the  Goths  under  his  own 
command. 

Here  the  stranger  paused  before  the  trunk  of  a  tree  which 
stood  between  the  city  wall  and  himself,  and  drew  from  be- 
neath his  ragged  cloak  a  small  lantern,  carefully  covei'ed 


240  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OP    ROME, 

with  a  piece  of  cloth,  which  he  now  removed,  and  holding 
the  light  high  above  his  head,  regarded  the  Goth  with  a 
steady  and  anxious  scrutin}-. 

Herraanric  attempted  to  address  him  first,  but  the  appear- 
ance of  the  man,  barely  visible  though  it  was  by  the  feeble 
light  of  his  lantern,  was  so  startling  and  repulsive  that  the 
half-formed  words  died  away  on  his  lips.  The  face  of  the 
stranger  was  of  a  ghastly  palenoss ;  his  hollow  cheeks  were 
seamed  with  deep  wrinkles,  and  his  eyes  glared  with  an  ex- 
pression of  ferocious  suspicion.  One  of  his  arms  was  covei*- 
ed  with  old  bandages,  stiif  with  coagulated  blood,  and  hung 
paralyzed  at  his  side.  The  hand  that  held  the  light  trem- 
bled so  that  the  lantern  containing  it  vibrated  continuously 
in  his  unsteady  grasp.  His  limbs  were  lank  and  shriveled 
almost  to  deformity,  and  it  was  with  evident  difiiculty  that 
he  stood  upright  on  his  feet.  Every  member  of  his  body 
seemed  to  be  wasting  with  a  gradual  death,  while  his  ex- 
pression, ardent  and  forbidding,  was  stamped  with  all  the 
energy  of  manhood  and  all  the  daring  of  youth. 

It  was  Ulpius !  The  wall  was  passed  !  The  breach  was 
made  good ! 

After  a  protracted  examination  of  Hermanric's  counte- 
nance and  attire,  the  man,  with  an  imperious  expression 
strangely  at  variance  with  his  faltering  voice,  thus  address- 
ed him : 

"  You  are  a  Goth  ?" 

"  I  am,"  rejoined  the  young  chief;  "and  you  are — " 

"A  friend  to  the  Goths,"  was  the  quick  answer. 

An  instant  of  silence  followed.  The  dialogue  was  then 
again  begun  by  the  stranger. 

"What  brought  you  alone  to  the  base  of  the  ramparts?" 
he  demanded,  and  an  expression  of  ungovernable  apprehen- 
sion shot  from  his  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

"I  saw  the  appearance  of  a  man  in  the  gleam  of  the  light- 
ning," answered  Hermanric.  "I  approached  it  to  assure  my- 
self that  my  eyes  had  not  deluded  me,  to  discover — " 

"There  is  but  one  man  of  your  nation  who  shall  discover 
whence  I  came,  and  what  I  would  obtain,"  interrupted  the 
stranger,  fiercely  ;  "  that  man  is  Alaric,  your  king." 

Surprise,  indignation,  and  contempt  appeared  in  the  fea- 
tures of  the  Goth  as  he  listened  to  such  a  declaration  from 


antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome,  241 

the  helpless  outcast  before  him.     The  man  perceived  it,  and 
motioning  to  him  to  be  silent,  again  addressed  him. 

"  Listen  !"  cried  he.  "  I  have  that  to  reveal  to  the  leader 
of  your  forces  which  will  stir  the  hearts  of  every  man  in 
your  encampment,  if  you  are  trusted  with  the  secret  after 
your  king  has  heard  it  from  my  lips !  Do  you  still  refuse 
to  guide  me  to  his  tent?" 

Hermanric  laughed  scornfully. 

"Look  on  me,"  pursued  the  man,  bending  forward,  and 
fixing  his  eyes  with  savage  earnestness  upon  his  listener's 
face.  "  I  am  alone,  old,  wounded,  weak — a  stranger  to  your 
nation  —  a  famished  and  a  helpless  man.  Should  I  venture 
into  your  camp  —  should  I  risk  being  slain  for  a  Roman  by 
your  comrades — should  I  dare  the  wrath  of  your  imperious 
ruler,  without  a  cause  ?" 

He  paused ;  and  then,  still  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  Goth, 
continued  in  lower  and  more  agitated  tones : 

"Deny  me  your  help,  I  will  wander  through  your  camp  till 
I  find  your  king  !  Imprison  me,  your  violence  will  not  open  my 
lips  !  Slay  me,  you  will  gain  nothing  by  my  death  !  But  aid 
me,  and  to  the  latest  moment  of  your  life  you  will  rejoice  in 
the  deed  !  I  have  words  of  terrible  import  for  Alaric's  ear — 
a  secret,  in  the  gaining  of  which  I  have  paid  the  penalty  thus!" 

He  pointed  to  his  wounded  arm.  The  solemnity  of  his 
voice;  the  rough  energy  of  his  words;  the  stern  determina- 
tion of  his  aspect ;  the  darkness  of  the  night  that  was  round 
them;  the  rolling  thunder  that  seemed  to  join  itself  to  their 
discourse  ;  the  impressive  mystery  of  their  meeting  under 
the  city  walls — all  began  to  exert  theii"  powerful  and  differ- 
ent influences  over  the  mind  of  the  Goth,  changing  insen- 
sibly the  sentiments  at  first  inspired  in  him  by  the  man's 
communications.  He  hesitated,  and  looked  round  doubt- 
fully toward  the  lines  of  the  camp. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  which  was  again  interrupted  by 
the  strangei". 

"Guard  me,  chain  me,  mock  at  me,  if  you  will!"  he  cried, 
with  raised  voice  and  flashing  eyes,  "  but  lead  me  to  Alaric's 
tent !  I  swear  to  you,  by  the  thunder  pealing  over  our 
heads,  that  the  words  I  would  speak  to  him  will  be  more 
precious  in  his  eyes  than  the  brightest  jewel  he  could  ravish 
from  the  coffers  of  Rome." 

11 


242  ANTOXINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME, 

Though  visibly  troubled  and  impressed,  Hermanric  still 
hesitated. 

"  Do  you  yet  delay  ?"  exclaimed  the  man,  with  contempt- 
uous impatience.  "Stand  back!  I  will  pass  on  by  myself 
into  the  very  heart  of  your  camp  !  I  entered  on  my  project 
alone  —  I  will  work  its  fulfillment  without  help!  Stand 
back  I" 

And  he  moved  past  Hermanric  in  the  direction  of  the  sub- 
urbs, with  the  same  look  of  fierce  energy  on  his  withered 
features  which  had  marked  them  so  strikingly  at  the  outset 
of  his  extraordinary  interview  with  the  young  chieftain. 

The  daring  devotion  to  his  purpose,  the  reckless  toiling 
after  a  dangerous  and  doubtful  success,  manifested  in  the 
words  and  actions  of  one  so  feeble  and  unaided  as  the 
stranger,  aroused  in  the  Goth  that  sentiment  of  irrepressible 
admiration  which  the  union  of  moral  and  physical  courage 
inevitably  awakens.  In  addition  to  the  incentive  to  aid  the 
man  thus  created,  an  ardent  curiosity  to  discover  his  secret 
filled  the  mind  of  Hermanric,  and  further  powerfully  inclined 
him  to  conduct  his  determined  companion  into  Alaric's  pres- 
ence; for  by  such  proceeding  only  could  he  hope,  after  the 
man's  firm  declaration  that  he  would  communicate  in  the 
first  instance  to  no  one  but  the  king,  to  penetrate  ultimately 
the  object  of  his  mysterious  errand.  Animated,  therefore, 
by  such  motives  as  these,  he  called  to  the  stranger  to  stop, 
and  briefly  communicated  to  him  his  willingness  to  conduct 
him  instantly  to  the  presence  of  the  leader  of  the  Goths. 

The  man  intimated  by  a  sign  his  readiness  to  accept  the 
offer.  His  physical  powers  were  now  evidently  fast  failing; 
but  he  still  tottered  painfully  onward  as  they  moved  to  the 
head-quarters  of  the  camp,  muttering  and  gesticulating  to 
himself  almost  incessantly.  Once  only  did  he  address  his 
conductor  during  their  progress;  and  then,  with  a  startling 
abruptness  of  manner  and  in  tones  of  vehement  anxiety  and 
suspicion,  he  demanded  of  the  young  Goth  if  he  had  ever 
examined  the  surface  of  the  city  wall  before  that  night. 
Hermanric  replied  in  the  negative,  and  they  then  proceeded 
in  perfect  silence. 

Their  way  lay  through  the  line  of  encampment  to  the 
westward,  and  was  imperfectly  lighted  by  the  flame  of  an 
occasional  torch  or  the  glow  of  a  distant  watch-fire.     The 


AKTONlNA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         243 

thunder  had  diminished  in  frequency  but  had  increased  in 
volume  ;  faint  breaths  of  wind  soared  up  fitfully  from  the 
west,  and  already  a  few  rain-drops  fell  slowly  to  the  thirsty 
earth.  The  warriors  not  actually  on  duty  at  the  different 
posts  of  observation  had  retired  to  the  shelter  of  their  tents; 
none  of  the  thousand  idlers  and  attendants  attached  to  the 
great  army  appeared  at  their  usual  haunts;  even  the  few 
voices  that  were  audible  sounded  distant  and  low.  The 
night-scene  here,  among  the  ranks  of  the  invaders  of  Italy, 
was  as  gloomy  and  repelling  as  on  the  solitary  plains  before 
the  walls  of  Rome. 

Ere  long  the  stranger  perceived  that  they  had  reached  a 
part  of  the  camp  more  thickly  peopled,  more  carefully  illu- 
minated, more  strongly  fortified,  than  that  through  which 
they  had  already  passed;  and  the  liquid,  rushing  sound  of 
the  waters  of  the  rapid  Tiber  now  caught  his  suspicious  and 
attentive  ear.  They  still  moved  onward  a  few  yards ;  and 
then  paused  suddenly  before  a  tent,  immediately  suriound- 
ed  by  many  others,  and  occupied  at  all  its  approaches  by 
groups  of  richly-armed  warriors.  Here  Hermanric  stopped 
an  instant  to  parley  with  the  sentinel,  who  after  a  short  de- 
lay raised  the  outer  covering  of  the  entrance  to  the  tent,  and 
the  moment  after  the  Roman  adventurer  beheld  himself 
standing  by  his  conductor's  side  in  the  presence  of  the  Goth- 
ic king. 

The  interior  of  Alaric's  tent  was  lined  with  skins,  and  il- 
luminated by  one  small  lamp,  fastened  to  the  centre-pole 
that  supported  its  roof  The  only  articles  of  furniture  in  the 
place  were  some  bundles  of  furs  flung  down  loosely  on  the 
ground,  and  a  large,  rudely-carved  wooden  chest,  on  which 
stood  a  polished  human  skull,  hollowed  into  a  sort  of  clumsy 
wine-cup.  A  thoroughly  Gothic  ruggedness  of  aspect,  a 
stately  northern  simplicity  prevailed  over  the  spacious  tent, 
and  was  indicated  not  merely  in  its  thick  shadows,  its  calm 
lights,  and  its  freedom  from  pomp  and  glitter,  but  even  in 
the  appearance  and  employment  of  its  remarkable  occupant. 

Alaric  was  seated  alone  on  the  wooden  chest  already  de- 
scribed, contemplating  with  bent  brow  and  abstracted  gaze 
some  old  Runic  charactei*s  traced  upon  the  carved  surface 
of  a  brass  and  silver  shield,  full  five  feet  high,  which  rested 
against  the  side  of  the  tent.     The  light  of  the  lamp  falling 


244         ANTONINA;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

upon  the  polished  surface  of  the  weapon — rendered  doubly 
bright  by  the  dark  skins  behind  it — was  reflected  back  upon 
the  figure  of  the  Gothic  chief  It  glowed  upon  his  ample 
cuirass ;  it  revealed  his  firm  lips,  slightly  curled  by  an  ex- 
pression of  scornful  triumph ;  it  displayed  the  grand,  mus- 
cular formation  of  his  arm,  which  rested,  clothed  in  tightly- 
fitting  leather,  upon  his  knee;  it  partly  brightened  over  his 
short  light  hair,  and  glittered  steadily  in  his  fixed,  thought- 
ful, manly  eyes,  which  were  just  perceptible  beneath  the 
partial  shadow  of  his  contracted  brow;  while  it  left  the  low- 
er part  of  his  body  and  his  right  luind,  which  was  supported 
on  the  head  of  a  huge  shaggy  dog,  couching  at  his  side, 
shadowed  almost  completely  by  the  thick  skins  heaped  con- 
fusedly against  the  sides  of  the  wooden  chest.  He  was  so 
completely  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  the  Runic  char- 
acters traced  among  the  carved  figures  on  his  immense 
shield,  that  he  did  not  notice  the  entry  of  Hermanric  and 
the  stranger  until  the  growl  of  the  watchful  dog  suddenly 
disturbed  him  in  his  occupation.  He  looked  up  instantly; 
his  quick,  penetrating  glance  dwelling  for  a  moment  on  the 
young  chieftain,  and  then  resting  steadily  and  inquiringly 
on  his  companion's  feeble  and  mutilated  form. 

Accustomed  to  the  military  brevity  and  promptitude  ex- 
acted by  his  commander  in  all  communications  addressed  to 
him  by  his  inferiors,  Hermanric,  without  waiting  to  be  in- 
terrogated or  attempting  to  preface  or  excuse  his  narrative, 
shortly  related  the  conversation  that  had  taken  place  be- 
tween the  stranger  and  himself  on  the  plain  near  the  Pincian 
Gate;  and  then  waited  respectfully  to  receive  the  commen- 
dation or  incur  the  rebuke  of  the  king,  as  the  chance  of  the 
moment  might  happen  to  decide. 

After  again  fixing  his  eyes  in  severe  scrutiny  on  the  person 
of  the  Roman,  Alaric  spoke  to  the  young  warrior  in  the 
Gothic  language,  thus: 

"Leave  the  man  with  me — return  to  your  post;  and  there 
await  whatever  commands  it  may  be  necessary  that  I  should 
dispatch  to  you  to-night." 

Hermanric  immediately  departed.  Then,  addressing  the 
stranger  for  the  first  time,  and  speaking  in  the  Latin  lan- 
guage, the  Gothic  leader  briefly  and  significantly  intimated 
to  his  unknown  visitant  that  they  were  now  alone. 


antoxina;   or,  the  fall  of  eomb.  245 

The  man's  parched  lips  moved,  opened,  quivered ;  his  wild, 
hollow  eyes  brightened  till  they  absolutely  gleamed,  but  he 
seemed  incapable  of  uttering  a  word ;  his  features  became 
horribly  convulsed,  the  foam  gathered  about  his  lips,  he  stag- 
gered forward,  and  would  have  fliUen  to  the  ground,  had  not 
the  king  instantly  caught  him  in  his  strong  grasp,  and  ]>laced 
him  on  the  wooden  chest  that  he  had  hitherto  occupied  him- 
self. 

"  Can  a  starving  Roman  have  escaped  fi-om  the  beU';ii;iired 
city?"  muttered 'Alaric,  as  he  took  the  skull  cup,  and  pour- 
ed some  of  the  wine  it  contained  down  the  strangei-'s  tliroat. 

The  liquor  was  immediately  successful  in  restoring  com- 
posure to  the  man's  features  and  consciousness  to  his  mind. 
He  raised  himself  from  the  seat,  dashed  off  the  cold  perspi- 
ration that  overspiead  his  forehead,  and  stood  upright  before 
the  king — the  solitary,  powerless  old  man  before  the  vigor- 
ous lord  of  thousands  in  the  midst  of  his  warriors  —  with- 
out a  tremor  in  his  steady  eye,  or  a  prayer  for  protection 
on  his  haughty  lip. 

"  I,  a  Roman,"  he  began, "  come  from  Rome,  against  which 
the  invader  wars  with  the  weapon  of  famine,  to  deliver  the 
city,  her  people,  her  palaces,  and  her  treasures  into  the  hands 
of  Alaric  the  Goth." 

The  king  started,  looked  on  the  speaker  for  a  moment, 
and  then  turned  from  him  in  impatience  and  contempt. 

"I  lie  not,"  pursued  the  enthusiast,  with  a  calm  dignity 
that  affected  even  the  hardy  sensibilities  of  the  Gothic  hero. 
"Eye  me  again  !  Could  I  come  starved,  shriveled,  withered 
thus  from  any  place  but  Rome  ?  Since  I  quitted  the  city  an 
hour  has  hardly  past,  and  by  the  way  that  I  left  it  the 
forces  of  the  Goths  may  enter  it  to-night." 

"The  proof  of  the  harvest  is  in  the  quantity  of  the  grain, 
not  in  the  tongue  of  tlie  husbandman.  Show  me  your  open 
gates,  and  I  will  believe  that  you  have  spoken  truth,"  re- 
torted the  king,  with  a  rough  laugh. 

"I  betray  the  city,"  resumed  the  man,  sternly,  "but  on 
one  condition  ;  grant  it  me,  and — " 

"I  will  grant  you  yourlifef  interrupted  Alaric, haughtily. 

"  My  life  !"  cried  the  Roman,  and  his  shrunken  form  seem- 
ed to  expand,  and  his  tremulous  voice  to  grow  firm  and 
steady  in  the  very  bitterness  of  his  contempt,  as  he  spoke. 


246         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

"  My  life  !  I  ask  it  not  of  your  power !  The  wreck  of  my 
body  is  scarce  strong  enough  to  preserve  it  to  me  a  single 
day  !  I  have  no  home,  no  loves,  no  friends,  no  possessions! 
I  live  in  Rome  a  solitary  in  the  midst  of  the  multitude,  a 
Pagan  in  a  city  of  apostates !  What  is  my  life  to  me  !  I 
cherish  it  but  for  the  service  of  the  gods,  whose  instruments 
of  vengeance  against  the  nation  that  has  denied  them  I 
would  make  you  and  your  hosts !  If  you  slay  me,  it  is  a 
sign  to  me  from  them  that  I  am  worthless  in  their  cause.  I 
shall  die  content." 

He  ceased.  The  king's  manner,  as  he  listened  to  him,  grad- 
ually lost  the  blunt!iess  and  carelessness  that  had  hitherto 
characterized  it,  and  assumed  an  attention  and  a  seriousness 
more  in  accordance  with  his  high  station  and  important  re- 
sponsibilities. He  began  to  regard  the  stranger  as  no  com- 
mon renegade,  no  ordinary  spy,  no  shallow  impostor,  who 
might  be  driven  from  his  tent  with  disdain  ;  but  as  a  man  im- 
portant enough  to  be  heard,  and  ambitious  enough  to  be 
distrusted.  Accordingly,  he  resumed  the  seat  from  which 
he  had  risen  during  the  interview,  and  calmly  desired  his 
new  ally  to  explain  the  condition,  on  the  granting  of  which 
depended  the  promised  betrayal  of  the  city  of  Rome. 

The  pain-worn  and  despondent  features  of  Ulpius  became 
animated  by  a  glow  of  triumph,  as  he  heard  the  sudden 
mildness  and  moderation  of  the  king's  demand ;  he  raised 
his  head  proudly,  and  advanced  a  few  steps,  as  he  thus  loud- 
ly and  abruptly  resumed : 

"Assure  to  me  the  overthrow  of  the  Christian  churches, 
the  extermination  of  the  Christian  priests,  and  the  universal 
revival  of  the  worship  of  the  gods,  and  this  night  shall  make 
you  master  of  the  chief  city  of  the  empire  you  are  laboring 
to  subvert!" 

The  boldness,  the  comprehensiveness,  the  insanity  of  wick- 
edness displayed  in  such  a  proposition,  and  emanating  from 
such  a  source,  so  astounded  the  mind  of  Alaric  as  to  deprive 
him  for  the  moment  of  speech.  The  stranger,  perceiving  his 
temporary  inability  to  answer  him,  broke  the  silence  which 
ensued, and  continued: 

"  Is  my  condition  a  hard  one  ?  A  conqueror  is  all-power- 
ful; he  can  overthrow  the  worship,  as  he  can  overthrow  the 
government  of  a  nation.     What  matters  it  to  you,  while 


axtonixa;   or,  the  fall  op  rome.  247 

empire,  renown,  and  treasure  are  yours,  what  deities  the  jJeo- 
ple  adore  ?  Is  it  a  great  price  to  pay  for  an  easy  conquest, 
to  make  a  change  which  threatens  neither  your  power,  your 
fame,  nor  your  wealth  ?  Do  you  marvel  that  I  desire  from 
you  such  a  revolution  as  this  ?  I  was  born  for  the  gods ;  in 
their  service  I  inherited  rank  and  renown,  for  their  cause  I 
have  suffered  degradation  and  woe, for  their  restoration!  will 
plot,  combat,  die  !  Assure  me  then,  by  oath,  that  with  a  new 
rule  you  will  erect  an  ancient  worship,  and  through  my  se- 
cret inlet  to  the  city  I  will  introduce  men  enough  of  the 
Goths  to  murder  with  security  the  sentinels  at  the  guard- 
houses, and  open  the  gates  of  Rome  to  the  numbers  of  your 
whole  invading  forces.  Think  not  to  despise  the  aid  of  a 
man  unprotected  and  unknown  !  The  citizens  will  never 
yield  to  your  blockade  ;  you  shrink  from  risking  the  dangers 
of  an  assault ;  the  legions  of  Ravenna  are  reported  on  their 
way  hitherward.  Outcast  as  I  am,  I  tell  it  to  you  here,  in 
the  midst  of  your  camp — your  speediest  assurance  of  success 
rests  on  my  discovery  and  on  we/" 

The  king  started  suddenly  from  his  seat.  "  What  fool  or 
madman,"  he  cried,  fixing  his  eyes  in  furious  scorn  and  in- 
dignation on  the  stranger's  face,  "prates  to  me  about  the 
legions  of  Ravenna  and  the  dangers  of  an  assault?  Think 
you,  renegade,  that  your  city  could  have  resisted  me,  had  I 
chosen  to  storm  it  on  the  first  day  when  I  encamped  before 
its  walls?  Know  you  that  your  eflPeminate  soldiery  have 
laid  aside  the  armor  of  their  ancestors  because  their  puny 
bodies  are  too  feeble  to  bear  its  weight,  and  that  the  half 
of  my  army  here  trebles  the  whole  number  of  the  guards  of 
Rome?  Xow,  while  you  stand  before  me,  I  have  but  to 
command,  and  the  city  shall  be  annihilated  with  fire  and 
sword,  without  the  aid  of  one  of  the  herd  of  traitors  cower- 
ing beneath  the  shelter  of  its  ill-defended  walls!" 

As  Alaric  spoke  thus,  some  invisible  agency  seemed  to 
crush,  body  and  mind,  the  lost  w-retch  whom  he  addressed. 
The  shock  of  such  an  answer  as  he  now  heard  seemed  to 
strike  him  idiotic,  as  a  flash  of  lightning  strikes  with  blind- 
ness. He  regarded  the  king  with  a  bewildered  stare,  wav- 
ing his  band  tremulously  backward  and  forward  before  his 
face,  as  if  to  clear  some  imaginary  darkness  off"  his  eyes; 
then  his  arm  fell  helpless  by  his  side,  his  head  drooped  upon 


248  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    KOME. 

his  breast,  and  he  moaned  out  in  low,  vacant  tones,  "The 
restoration  of  the  gods — that  is  the  condition  of  conquest — 
the  restoration  of  the  gods !" 

"  I  come  not  hither  to  be  the  tool  of  a  frantic  and  forgot- 
ten priesthood,"  cried  Alavic,  disdaiiii'iilly.  "Wherever  I 
meet  with  your  accursed  idols  I  will  melt  them  down  into 
armor  for  my  warriors  and  shoes  for  my  horses ;  I  will  turn 
your  temples  into  granaries,  and  cut  your  images  of  wood 
into  billets  for  the  watch-fires  of  my  hosts!" 

"Slay  me,  and  be  silent!"  groaned  the  man,  staggering 
back  against  the  side  of  the  tent,  and  shrinking  under  the 
merciless  words  of  the  Goth,  like  a  slave  under  the  lash. 

"  I  leave  the  shedding  of  such  blood  as  yours  to  your  fel- 
low-Romans," answered  the  king;  "they  alone  are  worthy 
of  the  deed !" 

No  syllable  of  reply  now  escaped  the  stianger's  lips,  and 
after  an  interval  of  silence  Alai'ic  resumed,  in  tones  divested 
of  their  former  fiery  irritation,  and  marked  by  a  solemn  ear- 
nestness that  conferred  irresistible  dignity  and  force  on  ev- 
ery word  that  he  uttered. 

"  Behold  the  characters  engraven  there !"  said  he,  point- 
ing to  the  shield;  "they  trace  the  curse  denounced  by  Odin 
against  the  great  oppressor,  Rome  !  Once  these  words  made 
part  of  the  worship  of  our  fathers ;  the  worship  has  long 
since  vanished,  but  the  words  remain  ;  they  seal  the  eternal 
hatred  of  the  people  of  the  north  to  the  people  of  the  south ; 
they  contain  the  spirit  of  the  great  destiny  that  has  brought 
me  to  the  walls  of  Rome.  Citizens  of  a  fallen  empire,  the 
measure  of  your  crimes  is  full  I  The  voice  of  a  new  nation 
calls  through  me  for  the  freedom  of  the  earth,  which  was 
made  for  man,  and  not  for  Romans !  The  rule  that  your 
ancestors  won  by  strength,  their  posterity  shall  no  longer 
keep  by  fraud.  For  two  hundred  years,  hollow  and  unlast- 
ing  truces  have  alternated  with  long  and  bloody  wars  be- 
tween your  people  and  mine.  Remembering  this,  remem- 
bering the  wrongs  of  the  Goths  in  their  settlements  in 
Thrace,  the  murder  of  the  Gothic  youths  in  the  towns  of 
Asia,  the  massacre  of  the  Gothic  hostages  in  Aquileia,  I 
come — chosen  by  the  supernatural  decrees  of  heaven  —  to 
assure  the  freedom  and  satisfy  the  wrath  of  my  nation,  by 
humbling  at  its  feet  the  power  of  tyrannic  Rome  !     It  is  not 


ANTOXIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  249 

for  battle  and  bloodshed  that  I  am  encamped  before  yonder 
walls.  It  is  to  crush  to  the  earth,  by  famine  and  woe,  the 
pride  of  your  people  and  the  spirit  of  your  rulers ;  to  tear 
from  you  your  hidden  wealth,  and  to  strip  you  of  your  boast- 
ed honor;  to  overthrow  by  oppression  the  oppressors  of  the 
world ;  to  deny  you  the  glories  of  a  resistance,  and  to  im- 
pose on  you  the  shame  of  a  submission.  It  is  for  this  that  I 
now  abstain  from  storming  your  city,  to  encircle  it  with  an 
immovable  blockade !" 

As  the  declaration  of  his  great  mission  burst  thus  from 
the  lips  of  the  Gothic  king,  the  spirit  of  his  lofty  ambition 
seemed  to  diffuse  itself  over  his  outward  form.  His  noble 
stature,  his  fine  proportions,  his  commanding  features,  be- 
came invested  with  a  simple,  primeval  grandeur.  Contrast- 
ed as  he  now  was  with  the  shrunken  figure  of  the  spirit- 
broken  stranger,  he  looked  almost  sublime. 

A  succession  of  protracted  shudderings  ran  through  the 
Pagan's  frame,  but  he  neither  wept  nor  spoke.  The  unavail- 
ing defense  of  the  Temple  of  Serapis,  the  defeated  revolu- 
tion at  Alexandria,  and  the  abortive  intrigue  with  Yetranio, 
were  now  rising  on  his  memory,  to  heighten  the  horror  of 
his  present  and  worst  overthrow.  Every  circumstance  con- 
nected with  his  desperate  passage  through  the  rifted  wall 
revived',  fearfully  vivid  on  his  mind.  He  remembered  all 
the  emotions  of  his  first  night's  labor  in  the  darkness,  all  the 
miseries  of  his  second  night's  torture  under  the  fallen  brick- 
work, all  the  woe,  danger,  and  despondency  that  accompa- 
nied his  subsequent  toil — persevered  in  under  the  obstruc- 
tions of  a  famine-weakened  body  and  a  helpless  arm — until 
he  passed,  in  delusive  triumph,  the  last  of  the  hinderances 
ill  the  long-labored  breach.  One  after  another  these  banish- 
ed recollections  returned  to  his  memory,  as  he  listened  to 
Alaric's  rebuking  words,  reviving  past  infirmities,  opening 
old  wounds,  inflicting  new  lacerations.  But,  saving  the  shud- 
derings that  still  shook  his  body,  no  outward  witness  betray- 
ed the  inward  torment  that  assailed  him.  It  was  too  strong 
for  human  words,  too  terrible  for  human  sympathy — he  suf- 
fered it  in  brute  silence.  Monstrous  as  was  his  plot,  the 
moral  punishment  of  its  attempted  consummation  was  se- 
vere enough  to  be  worthy  of  the  projected  crime. 

After  watching  the  man  for  a  few  minutes  more,  with  a 

11* 


250         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

glance  of  pitiless  disdain,  Alaric  summoned  one  of  the  war- 
riors in  attendance;  and,  having  previously  commanded  him 
to  pass  the  word  to  the  sentinels  authorizing  the  stranger's 
free  passage  through  the  encampment,  he  then  turned,  and 
for  the  last  time,  addressed  him  as  follows : 

"  Return  to  Rome,  through  the  hole  whence,  reptile-like, 
you  emerged,  and  feed  your  starving  citizens  with  the  words 
yon  have  heard  in  the  barbarian's  tent !" 

The  guard  approached,  led  him  from  the  presence  of  the 
king,  issued  the  necessary  directions  to  the  sentinels,  and  left 
him  to  himself  Once  he  raised  his  eyes  in  despairing  ap- 
peal to  the  heaven  that  frowned  over  his  head,  but  still  no 
word,  or  tear,  or  groan  escaped  him.  He  moved  slowly  on 
through  the  thick  darkness;  and  turning  his  back  on  the 
city,  passed,  careless  whither  he  strayed,  into  the  streets  of 
the  desolate  and  dispeopled  suburbs. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

LOVE  MEEIINGS. 

"Who  that  has  looked  on  a  threatening  and  tempestuous 
sky  has  not  felt  the  pleasure  of  discovering  unexpectedly 
a  small  spot  of  serene  blue  still  shining  among  the  stormy 
clouds?  The  more  unwilling  the  eye  has  wandered  over 
the  gloomy  expanse  of  the  rest  of  the  firmament,  the  more 
gladly  does  it  finally  rest  on  the  little  oasis  of  light  which 
meets  at  length  its  weary  gaze,  and  which,  when  it  was  dis- 
persed over  the  whole  heaven,  was  perhaps  only  briefly  re- 
garded with  a  careless  glance.  Contrasted  with  the  dark 
and  mournful  hues  around  it,  even  that  small  spot  of  blue 
gradually  acquires  the  power  of  investing  the  wider  and 
sadder  prospect  with  a  certain  interest  and  animation  that 
it  did  not  before  possess,  until  the  mind  recognizes  in  the 
surrounding  atmosphere  of  storm  an  object  adding  variety 
to  the  view — a  spectacle  whose  mourn  fulness  may  interest 
as  well  as  repel. 

Was  it  with  sensations  resembling  these  (applied,  how- 
ever, rather  to  the  mind  than  to  the  eye),  that  the  reader 
perused  those  pages  devoted  to  Hermanric  and  Antonina? 
Does  the  happiness  there  described  now  appear  to  him  to 


AirroNiNA;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  251 

beam  through  the  stormy  progress  of  the  narrative,  as  the 
spot  of  blue  beams  througli  the  gathering  clouds?  Did  that 
small  prospect  of  brightness  present  itself,  at  the  time,  like  a 
garden  of  repose  amidst  the  waste  of  fierce  emotions  which 
encompassed  it?  Did  it  encourage  him,  when  contrasted 
with  what  had  gone  before,  to  enter  on  the  field  of  gloomier 
interest  which  was  to  follow  ?  If,  indeed,  it  has  thus  affected 
him,  if  he  can  still  remember  the  scene  at  the  farm-house 
beyond  the  suburbs,  with  emotions  such  as  these,  he  will 
not  now  be  unwilling  to  turn  again  for  a  moment  from  the 
gathering  clouds  to  the  spot  of  blue — he  will  not  deny  us 
an  instant's  digression  from  Ulpius  and  the  city  of  famine, 
to  Antonina  and  the  lonely  plains. 

During  the  period  that  has  elapsed  since  we  left  her,  An- 
tonina has  remained  secure  in  her  solitude ;  happy  in  her 
well-chosen  concealment.  The  few  straggling  Goths  who 
at  rare  intervals  appeared  in  the  neighborhood  of  her  sanct- 
uary never  intruded  on  its  peaceful  limits.  The  sight  of 
the  ravaged  fields  and  emptied  granaries  of  the  deserted 
little  property  sufficed  invariably  to  turn  their  marauding 
steps  in  other  directions.  Day  by  day  ran  smoothly  and 
swiftly  onward  for  the  gentle  usurper  of  the  abandoned 
farm-house.  In  the  narrow  round  of  its  gardens  and  pro- 
tecting woods  was  comprised  for  her  the  whole  circle  of  the 
pleasures  and  occupations  of  her  new  life. 

The  simple  stores  left  in  the  house,  the  fruits  and  vegeta- 
bles to  be  gathered  in  the  garden,  sufficed  amply  for  her 
support.  The  pastoral  solitude  of  the  place  had  in  it  a 
quiet,  dreamy  fascination,  a  novelty,  an  unwearying  charm, 
after  the  austere  loneliness  to  which  her  former  existence 
had  been  subjected  in  Rome.  And  when  evening  came, 
and  the  sun  began  to  burnish  the  tops  of  the  western  trees, 
then,  after  the  calm  emotions  of  the  solitary  day,  came  the 
hour  of  absorbing  cares  and  happy  expectations — ever  the 
same,  yet  ever  delighting  and  ever  new.  Then  the  rude 
shutters  were  carefully  closed ;  the  open  door  was  shut  and 
barred;  the  small  light — now  invisible  to  the  world  with- 
out—was joyfiilly  kindled ;  and  then  the  mistress  and  au- 
thor of  these  preparations  resigned  herself  to  await,  with 
pleased  anxiety,  the  approach  of  the  guest  for  whose  wel- 
come they  were  designed. 


252         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  KOMK. 

And  never  (li<l  she  expect  the  arrival  of  that  treasured 
companion  in  vain.  Herraanric  remembered  liis  j^romise  to 
repair  constantly  to  the  farm-house,  and  performed  it  with 
all  the  constancy  of  love  and  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth. 
When  the  sentinels  under  his  command  were  arranged  in 
their  order  of  watching  for  the  night,  and  the  trust  reposed 
in  him  by  his  superiors  exempted  his  actions  from  superin- 
tendence during  the  hours  of  darkness  that  followed,  he  left 
the  camp,  passed  through  the  desolate  suburbs,  and  gained 
the  dwelling  where  the  young  Roman  awaited  him — return- 
ing before  day-break  to  receive  the  communications  regu- 
larly addressed  to  him,  at  that  hour,  by  his  inferior  in  the 
command. 

Thus,  false  to  his  nation,  yet  true  to  the  new  Egeria  of 
his  thoughts  and  actions  —  traitor  to  the  requirements  of 
vengeance  and  war,  yet  faithful  to  the  interests  of  tranquil- 
lity and  love  —  did  he  seek,  night  after  night,  Antonina's 
presence.  His  passion,  though  it  denied  him  to  his  warrior 
duties,  wrought  no  deteriorating  change  in  his  disposition. 
All  that  it  altered  in  him,  it  altered  nobly.  It  varied  and 
exalted  his  rude  emotions;  for  it  was  inspired,  not  alone 
by  the  beauty  and  youth  that  he  saic,  but  by  the  pure 
thoughts,  the  artless  eloquence  that  he  heard.  And  she — 
the  forsaken  daughter,  the  source  whence  the  northern  war- 
rior derived  those  new  and  higher  sensations  that  had  never 
animated  him  until  now  —  regarded  her  protector,  her  first 
friend  and  companion  as  her  first  love,  with  a  devotion 
which,  in  its  mingled  and  exalted  natnro  may  be  imagined 
by  the  mind,  but  can  be  but  imperfectly  depicted  by  the 
pen.  It  was  a  devotion  created  of  innocence  and  gratitude, 
of  joy  and  sorrow,  of  apprehension  and  hope.  It  was  too 
fresh,  too  unworldly,  to  own  any  upbraidings  of  artificial 
shame,  any  self-reproaches  of  artificial  propriety.  It  resem- 
bled in  its  essence,  thougli  not  in  its  application,  the  devo- 
tion of  the  first  daughters  of  the  Fall  to  their  brother-lords. 

But  it  is  now  time  that  we  return  to  the  course  of  our 
narrative ;  although,  ere  we  again  enter  on  the  stirring  and 
rapid  present,  it  will  be  necessary  for  a  moyient  more  to 
look  back  in  another  direction,  to  the  eventful  past. 

But  it  is  not  on  peace,  beauty,  and  pleasure  that  our  ob- 
servation now  fixes  itself.     It  is  to  anger,  disease,  and  crime 


AXTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         253 

— to  the  unappeasable  and  unwomanly  Goisvintha,  that  we 
now  revert. 

Since  the  day  when  the  violence  of  her  conflicting  emo- 
tions had  dejirived  her  of  consciousness,  at  the  moment  of 
her  decisive  triumph  over  the  scruples  of  Hermanric  and 
the  destiny  of  Antonina,  a  raging  fever  had  visited  on  her 
some  part  of  those  bitter  suflferings  that  she  would  fain  have 
inflicted  on  others.  Part  of  the  time  she  lay  in  a  raving 
delirium  ;  part  of  the  time  in  helpless  exhaustion  ;  but  she 
never  forgot,  whatever  the  form  assumed  by  lier  disease,  the 
desperate  purpose  in  pursuit  of  which  she  had  first  incurred 
it.  Slowly  and  doubtfull}'  her  vigor  at  length  returned  to 
her,  and  with  it  strengthened  and  increased  the  fierce  ambi- 
tion of  vengeance  that  absorbed  her  lightest  thoughts  and 
governed  her  most  careless  actions. 

Report  informed  her  of  the  new  position  on  the  line  of 
blockade  on  which  Hermanric  was  posted,  and  only  enumer- 
ated as  the  companions  of  his  sojourn  the  warriors  sent 
thither  under  his  command.  But,  though  thus  persuaded 
of  the  separation  of  Antonina  and  the  Goth,  her  ignorance 
of  the  girl's  fate  rankled  unintermittingly  in  her  savage 
heart.  Doubtful  whether  she  had  permanently  reclaimed 
Hermanric  to  the  interests  of  vengeance  and  bloodshed ; 
vaguely  suspecting  that  he  might  have  informed  himself  in 
her  absence  of  Antonina's  place  of  refuge  or  direction  of 
flight;  still  resolutely  bent  on  securing  the  death  of  her  vic- 
tim, wherever  she  might  have  strayed,  she  awaited  with 
trembling  eagerness  that  day  of  j-estoration  to  available  ac- 
tivity and  strength,  which  would  enable  her  to  resume  her 
influence  over  the  Goth  and  her  machinations  against  the 
safety  of  the  fugitive  girl.  The  time  of  her  final  and  long- 
expected  recover}'  was  the  very  day  preceding  the  stormy 
night  we  have  already  described,  and  her  first  employment 
of  her  renewed  energy  was  to  send  word  to  the  young  Goth 
of  her  intention  of  seeking  him  at  his  encampment  ere  the 
evening  closed. 

It  was  this  intimation  which  caused  the  inquietude  men- 
tioned as  characteristic  of  the  manner  of  Hermanric,  at 
the  commencement  of  the  preceding  chapter.  The  even- 
ing there  described  was  the  first  that  saw  him  deprived, 
through  the  threatened  visit  of  Goisvintha,  of  the  anticipa- 


254         ANTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

tion  of  repairing  to  Antonina,  as  had  been  his  AVont,  under 
cover  of  the  night;  for  to  slight  his  kinswoman's  ominous 
message  was  to  risk  the  most  fatal  of  discoveries.  Trust- 
ing to  the  delusive  security  of  her  sickness,  he  had  hitherto 
banished  the  unwelcome  remembrance  of  her  existence  from 
his  thoughts.  But,  now  that  she  was  once  more  capable  of 
exertion  and  of  crime,  he  felt  that  if  he  would  preserve  the 
secret  of  Autoniua's  hiding-place  and  the  security  of  Anto- 
nina's  life,  he  must  remain  to  oppose  force  to  force,  and 
stratagem  to  stratagem,  when  Goisvintha  sought  him  at  his 
post,  even  at  the  risk  of  inflicting,  by  his  absence  from  the 
farm-house,  all  the  pangs  of  anxiety  and  apprehension  on 
the  lonely  girl. 

Absorbed  in  such  reflections  as  these ;  longing  to  depart, 
yet  determined  to  remain,  he  impatiently  awaited  Goisvin- 
tha's  approach,  until  the  rising  of  the  storm,  with  its  myste- 
rious and  all-engrossing  train  of  events,  forced  his  thoughts 
and  actions  into  a  new  channel.  When,  however,  his  inter- 
views with  the  stranger  and  the  Gothic  king  were  passed,  and 
he  had  returned  as  he  had  been  bidden  to  his  appointed  so- 
journ in  the  camp,  his  old  anxieties,  displaced  but  not  destroy- 
ed, resumed  their  influence  over  him.  He  demanded  eager- 
ly of  his  comrades  if  Goisvintha  had  arrived  in  his  absence, 
and  received  the  same  answer  in  the  negative  from  each. 

As  he  now  listened  to  the  melancholy  rising  of  the  wind; 
to  the  increasing  loudness  of  the  thunder;  to  the  shrill  cries 
of  the  distant  night-birds  hurrying  to  shelter,  emotions  of 
mournfulness  and  awe  possessed  themselves  of  his  heart. 
He  now  wondered  that  any  events,  however  startling,  how- 
ever appalling,  should  have  had  the  power  to  turn  his  mind 
for  a  moment  from  the  dreary  contemplations  that  had  en- 
gaged it  at  the  close  of  day.  He  thought  of  Antonina,  soli- 
tary and  helpless,  listening  to  the  tempest  in  aflTright,  and 
watching  vainly  for  his  long- delayed  approach.  His  fancy 
arrayed  before  him  dangers,  plots,  and  crimes,  robed  in  all 
the  horrible  exaggerations  of  a  dream.  Even  the  quick  mo- 
notonous dripping  of  the  rain-drops  outside  aroused  within 
him  dark  and  indefinable  forebodings  of  ill.  The  passion 
that  had  hitherto  created  for  him  new  pleasures,  was  now 
fulfilling  the  other  half  of  its  earthly  mission,  and  causing 
him  new  pains. 


ANTONIITA  ;    OB,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  255 

As  the  storm  strengthened,  as  the  darkness  lowered  deep- 
er and  deeper,  so  did  his  inquietude  increase,  until  at  length 
it  mastered  the  last  feeble  resistance  of  his  wavering  fiim- 
ness.  Persuading  himself  that  after  having  delayed  so 
long,  Goisviutha  would  now  refrain  from  seeking  him  until 
the  morrow  ;  and  that  all  communications  from  Alaric,  had 
they  been  dispatched,  would  have  reached  him  ere  this ; 
unable  any  longer  to  combat  his  anxiety  for  the  safety  of 
Antonina;  deteimined  to  risk  the  worst  possibilities,  rather 
than  be  absent  at  such  a  time  of  tempest  and  peril  from  the 
farm-house,  he  made  a  last  visit  to  the  stations  of  the  watch- 
ful sentinels,  and  quitted  the  camp  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

THE   HUNS. 


More  than  an  hour  after  Hermanric  had  left  the  encamp- 
ment, a  man  hurriedly  entered  the  house  set  apart  for  the 
young  chieftain's  occupation.  He  made  no  attempt  to  kin- 
dle either  light  or  fire,  but  sat  down  in  the  principal  apart- 
ment, occasionally  whispering  to  himself  in  a  strange  and 
barbarous  tongue. 

He  had  remained  but  a  short  time  in  possession  of  his 
comfortless  solitude,  when  he  was  intruded  on  by  a  camp 
follower  bearing  a  small  lamp,  and  followed  closely  by  a 
woman,  who,  as  he  started  up  and  confronted  her,  announced 
herself  as  Hermanric's  kinswoman,  and  eagerly  demanded  an 
interview  with  the  Goth. 

Haggard  and  ghastly  though  it  was  from  recent  suffering 
and  long  agitation,  the  countenance  of  Goisvintha  (for  it  was 
she)  appeared  absolutely  attractive,  as  it  was  now  opposed 
by  the  lamp-light  to  the  face  and  figure  of  the  individual 
she  addressed.  A  flat  nose,  a  swarthy  complexion,  long, 
coarse,  tangled  locks  of  deep  black  hair,  a  beardless,  retreat- 
ing chin,  and  small,  savage,  sunken  eyes,  gave  a  character 
almost  bestial  to  this  man's  physiognomy.  His  broad, 
brawny  shoulders  overhung  a  form  that  was  as  low  in  stat- 
ure as  it  was  athletic  in  build  ;  you  looked  on  him  and  saw 
the  sinews  of  a  giant  strung  in  the  body  of  a  dwarf  And 
yet  this  deformed  Hercules  was  no  solitary  error  of  Nature 


256  AjrroNiif A ;  or,  the  fall  of  romb. 

— no  extraordinary  exception  to  his  fellow-beings ;  but  the 
actual  type  of  a  whole  race,  stunted  and  repulsive  as  him- 
self    He  was  a  Hun. 

This  savage  people,  the  terror  even  of  their  barbarous 
neighbors,  living  without  government,  laws,  or  religion,  pos- 
sessed but  one  feeling  in  common  with  the  human  race — the 
instinct  of  war.  Their  historical  career  may  be  said  to 
have  begun  with  their  early  conquests  in  China,  and  to  have 
proceeded  in  their  first  victories  over  the  Goths,  who  re- 
garded them  as  demons,  and  fled  their  approach.  The  hos- 
tilities thus  commenced  between  the  two  nations  were  at 
length  suspended  by  the  temporary  alliance  of  the  conquer- 
ed people  with  the  empire,  and  subsequently  ceased  in  the 
gradual  fusion  of  the  interests  of  each  in  one  animating 
spirit — detestation  of  Rome. 

By  this  bond  of  brotherhood  the  Goths  and  the  Huns  be- 
came publicly  united,  though  still  privately  at  enmity — for 
the  one  nation  remembered  its  former  defeats,  as  vividly  as 
the  other  remembered  its  former  victories.  With  various 
disasters,  dissensions,  and  successes,  they  ran  their  career  of 
battle  and  rapine — sometimes  separate,  sometimes  together, 
until  the  period  of  our  romance,  when  Alaric's  besieging 
forces  numbered  among  the  ranks  of  their  barbarian  auxil- 
iaries a  body  of  Huns,  who,  unwillingly  admitted  to  the  title 
of  Gothic  allies,  were  dispersed  about  the  army  in  subordi- 
nate stations,  and  of  whom  the  individual  above  described 
was  one  of  those  contemptuously  favored  by  promotion  to 
an  inferior  command,  under  Hermanric,  as  a  Gothic  chief 

An  expression  of  aversion,  but  not  of  terror,  passed  over 
Goisvintha's  worn  features  as  she  approached  the  barbarian, 
and  repeated  her  desire  to  be  conducted  to  Herman ric's  pres- 
ence. For  the  second  time,  however,  the  man  gave  her  no 
answer.  He  burst  into  a  shrill,  short  laugh,  and  shook  his 
huge  shoulders  in  clumsy  detision. 

The  woman's  cheek  reddened  for  an  instant,  and  then 
turned  again  to  livid  paleness,  as  she  thus  resumed: 

"  I  came  not  hither  to  be  mocked  by  a  barbarian,  but  to 
be  welcomed  by  a  Goth  !  Again  I  ask  you,  where  is  my 
kinsman,  Hermanric  ?" 

"  Gone  !"  cried  the  Hun.  And  his  laughter  grew  more 
wild  and  discordant  as  he  spoke. 


ANTOKINA  ;    OR,"  THE    FALL    OP    ROMK.  257 

A  sudden  tremor  ran  thiough  Goisvintha's  frame,  as  she 
marked  the  manner  of  the  barbarian  and  heard  his  reply. 
Repressing  with  difficulty  her  anger  and  agitation,  she  con- 
tinued, with  apprehension  in  her  eyes  and  entreaty  in  her 
tones : 

"  Whither  has  be  gone  ?  Wherefore  has  he  departed  ?  I 
know  that  the  hour  I  appointed  for  our  meeting  here  has 
long  passed  ;  but  I  have  suffered  a  sickness  of  many  weeks; 
and  when,  at  evening,  I  prepared  to  set  forth,  my  banished 
infirmities  seemed  suddenly  to  return  to  me  again.  I  was 
borne  to  my  bed.  But,  though  the  women  who  succored 
me  bid  me  remain  and  repose,  I  found  strength  in  the  night 
to  escape  them,  and  thiough  storm  and  darkness  to  come 
hither  alone ;  for  I  was  determined,  though  I  should  perish 
for  it,  to  seek  the  presence  of  Hermanric,  as  I  had  promised 
by  my  messengers.  You,  that  are  the  companion  of  his 
watch,  must  know  whither  he  is  gone.  Go  to  him  and  tell 
him  what  I  have  spoken.     I  will  await  his  return  !" 

"His  business  is  secret,"  sneered  the  Hun.  "He  has  de- 
parted, but  w'ithout  telling  me  whither.  How  should  I, that 
am  a  barbarian,  know  the  whereabouts  of  an  illustrious 
Goth?  It  is  not  for  me  to  know  his  actions,  but  to  obey 
his  words !" 

"Jeer  not  about  your  obedience,"  returned  Goisvintha, 
with  breathless  eagerness;  "I  say  to  you  again,  you  know 
whither  he  is  gone,  and  you  must  tell  me  for  what  he  has 
departed.  You  obey  him  —  there  is  money  to  make  you 
obey  me!'''' 

"  When  I  said  his  business  was  secret,  I  lied  not,"  said  the 
Hun,  picking  up  with  avidity  the  coins  she  flung  to  him; 
"  but  he  has  not  kept  it  secret  from  me!  The  Huns  are  cun- 
ning!    Aha,  ugly  and  cunning!" 

Suspicion,  the  only  refined  emotion  in  a  criminal  heart, 
half  discovered  to  Goisvintha,  at  this  moment,  the  intelli- 
gence that  was  yet  to  be  communicated.  Xo  word,  how- 
ever, escaped  her,  while  she  signed  the  barbarian  to  proceed. 

"He  has  gone  to  a  farm-house  on  the  plains  beyond  the 
subui'bs  behind  us.  He  will  not  return  till  day-break,"  con- 
tinued the  Hun,  tossing  his  money  cai-elessly  in  his  great, 
horny  hands. 

"Did  you  see  him  go?"  gasped  the  woman. 


258  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL    OF   ROME. 

"I  tracked  him  to  the  house,"  returned  the  barbarian. 
"For  many  nights  I  watched  and  suspected  him — to-night 
I  saw  him  depart.  It  is  but  a  short  time  since  I  returned 
from  following  him.  The  darkness  did  not  delude  me ;  the 
place  is  on  the  high-road  from  the  suburbs  —  the  first  by- 
path to  the  westward  leads  to  its  garden  gate.  I  know  it ! 
I  have  discovered  his  secret !     I  am  more  cunning  than  he  !" 

"For  what  did  he  seek  the  farm-house  at  night?"  de- 
manded Goisvintha  after  an  interval,  during  which  she  ap- 
peared to  be  silently  fixing  the  man's  last  speech  in  her 
memory.     "Are  you  cunning  enough  to  tell  me  that?" 

"  For  what  do  men  venture  their  safety  and  their  lives ; 
their  money  and  their  renown?"  laughed  the  barbarian. 
"They  venture  them  for  women!  There  is  a  girl  at  the 
farm-house ;  I  saw  her  at  the  door  when  the  chief  went  in  !" 

He  paused,  but  Goisvintha  made  no  answer.  Remember- 
ing that  she  was  descended  from  a  race  of  women  who  slew 
their  wounded  husbands,  brothers,  and  sons  with  their  own 
hands,  when  they  sought  them  after  battle,  dishonored  by  a 
defeat;  remembering  that  the  fire  of  the  old  ferocity  of  such 
ancestors  as  these  still  burned  at  her  heart ;  remembering 
all  that  she  had  hoped  from  Hermanric,  and  had  plotted 
against  Antonina;  estimating  in  all  its  importance  the  shock 
of  the  intelligence  she  now  received,  we  are  alike  unwilling 
and  unable  to  describe  her  emotions  at  this  moment.  For 
some  time  the  stillness  in  the  room  was  interrupted  by  no 
sounds  but  the  rolling  of  the  thunder  without,  the  quick, 
convulsive  respiration  of  Goisvintha,  and  the  clinking  of  the 
money  which  the  Hun  still  continued  to  toss  mechanically 
from  hand  to  hand. 

"I  shall  reap  good  harvest  of  gold  and  silver  after  to- 
night's work,"  pursued  the  barbarian,  suddenly  breaking  the 
silence.  "  You  have  given  me  money  to  speak — when  the 
chief  returns  and  hears  that  I  have  discovered  him,  he  will 
give  me  money  to  be  silent.  I  shall  drink  to-morrow  with 
the  best  men  in  the  army,  Hun  though  I  am  !" 

He  returned  to  his  seat  as  he  ceased,  and  began  beating  in 
monotonous  measure,  with  one  of  his  pieces  of  money  on  the 
blade  of  his  sword,  some  chorus  of  a  favorite  drinking  song; 
while  Goisvintha,  standing  pale  and  breathless  near  the  door 
of  the  chamber,  looked  down  on  him  with  fixed,  vacant  eyes, 


ANTONLX A  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         259 

At  length  a  deep  sigh  broke  from  her;  her  hands  involunta- 
rily clenched  themselves  at  her  side;  her  lips  moved  with  a 
bitter  smile;  then,  without  addressing  another  word  to  the 
Hun,  she  turned,  and  softly  and  stealthily  quitted  the  room. 

The  instant  she  was  gone  a  sudden  change  arose  in  the 
barbarian's  manner.  He  started  from  his  seat,  a  scowl  of 
savage  hatred  and  triumph  appeared  on  his  shaggy  brows, 
and  he  paced  to  and  fro  through  the  chamber  like  a  wild 
beast  in  his  cage.  "  I  shall  tear  him  from  the  pinnacle  of 
his  power  at  last !"  he  whispered  fiercely  to  himself  "  For 
what  I  have  told  her  this  night,  his  kinswoman  will  hate  him 
— I  knew  it  w'hile  she  spoke  !  For  his  desertion  of  his  post, 
Alaric  may  dishonor  him,  may  banish  him,  may  hang  him ! 
His  fate  is  at  my  mercy  ;  I  shall  rid  myself  nobly  of  him  and 
his  command  !  More  than  all  the  rest  of  his  nation  I  loathe 
this  Goth  !  I  will  be  by  when  they  drag  him  to  the  tree, 
and  taunt  him  with  his  shame,  as  he  has  taunted  me  with 
my  deformity."  Here  he  paused  to  laugh  in  complacent 
approval  of  his  project,  quickening  his  steps  and  hugging 
himself  joyfully  in  the  barbarous  exhilaration  of  his  triumph. 

His  secret  meditations  had  thus  occupied  him  for  some 
time  longer,  when  the  sound  of  a  footstep  was  audible  out- 
side the  door.'  He  recognized  it  instantly,  and  called  softly 
to  the  person  without  to  approach.  At  the  signal  of  his 
voice  a  man  entered — less  athletic  in  build,  but  in  deformity 
the  very  counterpart  of  himself  The  following  discourse 
was  then  immediately  held  between  the  two  Huns,  the  new- 
comer beginning  it  thus : 

"Have  you  tracked  him  to  the  door?" 

"To  the  very  threshold." 

"Then  his  downfall  is  assured  !     I  have  seen  Alaric." 

"  We  shall  trample  him  under  our  feet — this  boy,  who  has 
been  set  over  us  that  are  his  elders,  because  he  is  a  Goth 
and  we  are  Huns  !  But  what  of  Alaric?  How  did  you  gain 
his  ear  ?" 

"  The  Goths  round  his  tent  scoffed  at  me  as  a  savage,  and 
swore  that  I  was  begotten  between  a  demon  and  a  witch. 
But  I  remembered  the  time  when  these  boasters  fled  from 
their  settlements ;  when  our  tribes  mounted  their  black 
steeds  and  hunted  them  like  beasts !  Aha !  their  very  lips 
were  pale  with  fear  in  those  days." 


260         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

"Speak  of  Alaric  —  oiir  time  is  short,"  interrupted  the 
other  fiercely. 

"I  answered  not  a  word  to  their  taunts,"  resumed  his 
companion,  "but  I  called  out  loudly  that  I  was  a  Gothic 
ally ;  that  I  brought  messages  to  Alaric ;  and  that  I  had  the 
privilege  of  audience  like  the  rest.  My  voice  reached  the 
ears  of  the  king;  he  looked  forth  from  his  tent  and  beckon- 
ed me  in.  I  saw  his  hatred  of  my  nation  lowering  in  his  eye 
as  we  looked  on  one  another,  but  I  spoke  with  submission 
and  in  a  soft  voice.  I  told  him  how  his  chieftain  whom  he 
had  set  over  us  secretly  deserted  his  post;  I  told  him  how 
we  had  seen  his  favored  warrior  for  many  nights,  journeying 
toward  the  suburbs ;  how  on  this  night,  as  on  others  before, 
he  had  stolen  from  the  encampment,  and  how  you  had  gone 
forth  to  track  him  to  his  lurking-place." 

"  Was  the  tyrant  angered  ?" 

"  His  cheeks  reddened,  and  his  eyes  flashed,  and  his  fingers 
trembled  round  the  hilt  of  his  sword  while  I  spoke  !  When 
I  ceased,  he  answered  me  that  I  lied.  He  cursed  me  for  an 
infidel  Hun,  who  had  slandered  a  Christian  chieftain.  He 
threatened  me  with  hanging !  I  cried  to  him  to  send  mes- 
sengers to  our  quarters  to  prove  the  truth,  ere  he  slew  me. 
He  commanded  a  warrior  to  return  hither  wifh  me.  When 
we  arrived,  the  most  Christian  chieftain  was  nowhere  to  be 
beheld — none  knew  whither  he  had  gone  !  We  turned  back 
again  to  the  tent  of  the  king;  his  warrior  whom  he  honored 
spoke  the  same  words  to  him  as  the  Hun  whom  he  despised. 
Then  the  wrath  of  Alaric  rose.  'This  very  night,'  he  cried, 
*did  I  with  my  own  lips  direct  him  to  await  my  commands 
with  vigilance  at  his  appointed  post !  I  would  visit  such 
disobedience  with  punishment  on  my  own  son  !  Go,  take 
with  you  others  of  your  troop — your  comrade  who  has 
tracked  him  will  guide  you  to  his  hiding-place — bring  him 
prisoner  into  my  tent !'  Such  were  his  words.  Our  com- 
panions wait  us  without — lest  he  should  escape  let  us  de- 
part without  delay." 

"And  if  he  should  resist  us,"  cried  the  other,  leading  the 
way  eagerly  toward  the  door — "  what  said  the  king,  if  he 
should  resist  us?" 

"  Slay  him  with  your  own  hands." 


ANTO^liJA;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  261 


CHAPTER  XYIII. 

THE    FARM-HOUSE., 

As  the  night  still  advanced,  so  did  the  storm  increase. 
On  the  plains  in  the  open  country  its  violence  was  most  ap- 
parent. Here  no  living  voices  jarred  with  the  dreary  music 
of  the  elements ;  no  flaming  torches  opposed  the  murky 
darkness,  or  imitated  the  glaring  lightning.  The  thunder 
pursued  uninterruptedly  its  tempest  symphony,  and  the  fierce 
wind  joined  it,  swelling  into  wild  harmony,  when  it  rushed 
through  the  trees,  as  if  in  their  waving  branches  it  struck 
the  chords  of  a  mighty  harp. 

In  the  small  chamber  of  the  farm-house  sat  together  Her- 
man ric  and  Antonina,  listening  in  speechless  attention  to 
the  increasing  tumult  of  the  storm. 

The  room  and  its  occupants  were  imperfectly  illuminated 
by  the  flame  of  a  smouldering  wood-tire.  The  little  earthen- 
ware lamp  hung  from  its  usual  place  in  the  ceiling,  but  its 
oil  was  exhausted  and  its  light  wns  extinct.  An  alabaster 
vase  of  fruit  lay  broken  by  the  side  of  the  table,  from  which 
it  had  fallen  unnoticed  to  the  floor.  Xo  other  articles  of  or- 
nament appeared  in  the  apartment.  Hermanric's  downcast 
eyes  and  melancholy,  unchanging  expression  betrayed  the 
gloomy  abstraction  in  which  he  was  absorbed.  With  one 
hand  chisped  in  his,  and  the  other  resting  with  her  head  on 
his  shoulder,  Antonina  listened  attentively  to  the  alternate 
rising  and  falling  of  the  wind.  Her  beauty  had  grown  fresh- 
.er  and  more  woman-like  during  her  sojourn  at  the  farm- 
house. Cheerfulness  and  hope  seemed  to  have  gained,  at 
length,  all  the  share  in  her  being  assigned  to  them  by  nature 
at  her  birth.  Even  at  this  moment  of  tempest  and  darkness, 
there  was  more  of  wonder  and  awe  than  of  agitation  and  af- 
fright in  her  expression,  as  she  sat  hearkening,  with  flushed 
cheek  and  brightened  eye,  to  the  progress  of  the  nocturnal 
storm. 

Thus  engrossed  by  their  thoughts,  Hermanric  and  Anto- 
nina remained  silent  in  their  little  retreat,  until  the  reveries 


262  ANTONlNA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OP   ROME. 

of  both  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  snapping  asunder 
of  the  bar  of  wood  which  secured  the  door  of  the  room,  the 
stress  of  which,  as  it  bent  under  the  repeated  shocks  of  the 
wind,  the  rotten  spar  was  too  weak  to  sustain  any  longer. 
There  was  something  inexpressibly  desolate  in  the  flood  of 
rain,  wind,  and  darkness  that  seemed  instantly  to  pour  into 
the  chamber  through  the  open  door,  as  it  flew  back  violent- 
ly on  its  frail  hinges.  Antonina  changed  color  and  shudder- 
ed involuntarily,  as  Hermanric  hastily  rose  and  closed  the 
door  again,  by  detaching  its  rude  latch  from  the  sling  which 
held  it  when  not  wanted  for  use.  He  looked  round  the 
room,  as  he  did  so,  for  some  substitute  for  the  broken  bai', 
but  nothing  that  was  fit  for  the  purpose  immediately  met 
his  eye,  and  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  returned  impa- 
tiently to  his  seat,  "  While  we  are  here  to  watch  it,  the 
latch  is  enough :  it  is  new  and  strong." 

He  seemed  on  the  point  of  again  relapsing  into  his  former 
gloom,  when  the  voice  of  Antonina  arrested  his  attention, 
and  aroused  him  for  the  moment  from  his  thoughts. 

"  Is  it  in  the  power  of  the  tempest  to  make  you^  a  warrior 
of  a  race  of  heroes,  thus  sorrowful  and  sad  ?"  she  asked,  in 
accents  of  gentle  reproach.  "  Even  I,  as  I  look  on  these 
walls  that  are  so  eloquent  of  my  happiness,  and  sit  by  you 
whose  presence  makes  that  happiness,  can  listen  to  the  ra- 
ging storm, and  feel  no  heaviness  over  my  heart!  What  is 
there  to  either  of  us  in  the  tempest  that  should  oppress  us 
with  gloom  ?  Does  not  the  thunder  of  the  winter  night 
come  from  the  same  heaven  as  the  sunshine  of  the  summer 
day?  You  are  so  young,  so  generous,  so  brave — you  have 
loved,  and  pitied,  and  succored  me — why  should  the  night  lan- 
guage of  the  sky  cast  such  sorrow  and  such  silence  over  you  ?" 

"  It  is  not  from  sorrow  that  I  am  silent,"  replied  Herman- 
ric, with  a  constrained  smile,  "but  from  weariness  with  much 
toil  in  the  camp." 

He  stifled  a  sigh  as  he  spoke.  His  head  returned  to  its 
old  downcast  position.  The  struggle  between  his  assumed 
carelessness  and  his  real  inquietude  was  evidently  unequal. 
As  she  looked  fixedly  on  him,  with  the  vigilant  eye  of  affec- 
tion, the  girl's  countenance  saddened  with  his.  She  nestled 
closer  to  his  side,  and  resumed  the  discourse  in  anxious  and 
entreating  tones. 


antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  romb.  263 

"It  is  baply  the  strife  between  our  two  nations  which  has 
separated  us  already,  and  may  separate  us  again,  that  thus 
oppresses  you;"  said  she,  "but  think,  as  I  do,  of  the  peace 
that  must  come,  and  not  of  the  warfare  that  now  is.  Think 
of  the  pleasures  of  our  past  days,  and  of  the  happiness  of 
our  present  moments — thus  united,  thus  living,  loving,  hop- 
ing for  each  other;  and,  like  me,  you  will  doubt  not  of  the 
future  that  is  in  preparation  for  us  both !  The  season  of 
tranquillity  may  return  with  the  season  of  spring.  The  se- 
rene heaven  will  then  be  reflected  on  a  serene  country  and  a 
happy  people;  and  in  those  days  of  sunshine  and  peace,  will 
any  hearts  among  all  the  glad  population  be  more  joyful 
than  ours?" 

She  paused  a  moment.  Some  sudden  thought  or  recollec- 
tion heightened  her  color  and  caused  her  to  hesitate  ere  she 
proceeded.  She  was  about  at  length  to  continue,  when  a 
peal  of  thunder,  louder  than  any  which  had  preceded  it, 
burst  threateningly  over  the  house  and  drowned  the  first 
accents  of  her  voice.  The  wind  moaned  loudly;  the  rain 
splashed  against  the  door;  the  latch  rattled  long  and  sharp- 
ly in  its  socket.  Once  more  Hermanric  rose  fiom  his  seat, 
and  approaching  the  fire,  placed  a  fresh  log  of  wood  upon 
the  dying  embers.  His  dejection  seemed  now  to  communi- 
cate itself  to  Antonina,  and  as  he  reseated  himself  by  her 
side  she  did  not  address  him  again. 

Thoughts  dreary  and  appalling  beyond  any  that  had  oc- 
cupied it  before  were  rising  in  the  mind  of  the  Goth.  His 
inquietude  at  the  encampment  in  the  suburbs  was  tranquil- 
lity itself  compared  to  the  gloom  which  now  oppressed  him. 
All  the  evaded  dues  of  his  nation,  his  family,  and  his  calling ; 
all  the  suppressed  recollections  of  the  martial  occupations 
he  had  slighted,  and  the  martial  enmities  he  had  disowned, 
now  revived  avengingly  in  his  memory.  Yet,  vivid  as  these 
remembrances  were,  they  weakened  none  of  those  feelings 
of  passionate  devotion  to  Antonina,  by  which  their  influence 
within  him  had  hitherto  been  overcome.  They  existed  with 
them -r- the  old  recollections  with  the  new  emotions  —  the 
stern  rebukings  of  the  warrior's  nature  with  the  anxious 
forebodings  of  the  lover's  heart.  And  now,  his  mysterious 
meeting  with  Ulpius;  Goisvintha's  unexpected  restoration 
to  health;  the  dreary   rising  and  furious  progress   of  the 


264  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME. 

night  tempest,  began  to  impress  his  superstitious  mind  as  a 
train  of  unwonted  and  meaning  incidents,  destined  to  mark 
the  fatal  return  of  his  kinswoman's  influence  over  his  own 
actions  and  Antonina's  fate. 

One  by  one,  his  memory  revived  with  laborious  minute- 
ness every  incident  that  had  attended  his  difterent  inter- 
views with  the  Roman  girl,  from  the  first  night  when  she 
had  strayed  into  his  tent  to  the  last  happy  evening  that  he 
had  spent  with  her  at  the  deserted  farm-house.  Then  tra- 
cing farther  backward  the  course  of  his  existence,  he  figured 
to  himself  his  meeting  with  Goisvintha  among  the  Italian 
Alps;  his  presence  at  the  death  of  her  last  child,  and  his 
solemn  engagement,  on  hearing  her  recital  of  the  massacre 
at  Aquileia,  to  avenge  her  on  the  Romans  with  his  own 
hands.  Roused  by  these  opposite  pictures  of  the  past,  his 
imagination  peopled  the  future  with  images  of  Antonina 
again  endangered,  afflicted,  and  foisaken  ;  with  visions  of 
the  impatient  army,  spurred  at  length  into  ferocious  action, 
making  universal  havoc  among  the  people  of  Rome,  and 
forcing  him  back  forever  into  their  avenging  ranks.  No  de- 
cision  for  resistance  or  resignation  to  flight  presented  itself 
to  his  judgment.  Doubt,  despair,  and  apprehension  held 
unimpeded  sway  over  his  impressible  but  inactive  faculties. 
The  night  itself,  as  he  looked  forth  on  it,  was  not  more  dark; 
the  wild  thunder,  us  he  listened  to  it,  not  more  gloomy; 
the  name  of  Goisvintha,  as  he  thought  on  it,  not  more  omi- 
nous of  evil,  than  the  sinister  visions  that  now  startled  his 
imagination  and  oppressed  his  weary  mind. 

There  was  something  indescribably  simple,  touching,  and 
eloquent  in  the  very  positions  of  Ilermanric  and  Antonina 
as  they  now  sat  together — the  only  members  of  their  re- 
spective nations  who  were  united  in  affection  and  peace,  in 
the  lonely  farm-house.  Both  the  girl's  hands  wei'e  clasped 
over  Hermanric's  shoulder,  and  her  head  rested  on  them, 
turned  from  the  door  toward  the  interior  of  the  room,  and 
so  displaying  her  rich  black  hair  in  all  its  luxuriance.  Tlie 
head  of  the  Goth  was  still  sunk  on  his  breast,  as  though  he 
were  wrapped  in  a  deep  sleep,  and  his  hands  hung  listlessly 
side  by  side  over  the  scabbard  of  his  sheathed  sword,  which 
lay  across  his  knees.  The  fire  flamed  only  at  intervals,  the 
fresh  log  that  had  been  placed  on  it  not  having  been  thor- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome.  265 

ouglily  kindled  as  yet.  Sometimes  the  light  played  on  the 
white  folds  of  Antonina's  dress;  sometimes  over  the  bright 
surface  of  Hermanric's  cuirass,  which  he  had  removed  and 
laid  by  his  side  on  the  ground  ;  sometimes  over  his  sword, 
and  his  hands,  as  they  rested  on  it ;  but  it  was  not  sufficient- 
ly powerful  or  lasting  to  illuminate  the  room,  the  walls  and 
corners  of  which  it  left  in  almost  complete  darkness. 

The  thunder  still  pealed  from  without,  but  the  rain  and 
wind  had  partially  lulled.  The  night  hours  had  moved  on 
more  swiftly  than  our  narrative  of  the  events  that  marked 
them.     It  was  now  midnight. 

No  sound  within  the  room  reached  Antonina's  ear  but  the 
quick  rattling  of  the  door-latch,  shaken  in  its  socket  by  the 
wind.  As  one  by  one  the  moments  journeyed  slowly  on- 
ward, it  made  its  harsh  music  with  as  monotonous  a  regu- 
larity as  though  it  were  moved  by  their  progress,  and  kept 
pace  with  their  eternal  march.  Gradually  the  girl  found 
herself  listening  to  this  sharp,  discordant  sound,  with  all  the 
attention  she  could  have  bestowed  at  other  times  on  the  rip- 
ple of  a  distant  rivulet  or  the  soothing  harmony  of  a  lute, 
when,  just  as  it  seemed  adapting  itself  most  easily  to  her 
senses,  it  suddenly  ceased,  and  the  next  instant  a  gust  of 
wind,  like  that  which  had  rushed  through  the  open  door  on 
the  breaking  of  its  rotten  bar,  waved  her  hair  about  her  face, 
and  fluttered  the  folds  of  her  light,  loose  dress.  She  raised 
her  head  and  whispered  tremulously  to  Hermanric : 

"The  door  is  again  open — the  latch  has  given  way  !" 

The  Goth  started  from  his  reverie,  and  looked  up  hastily. 
At  that  instant  the  rattling  of  the  latch  recommenced  as 
suddenly  as  it  had  ceased,  and  the  air  of  the  room  recover- 
ed its  former  tranquillity. 

"Calm  yourself,  beloved  one,"  said  Hermanric,  gently; 
"  your  fancy  has  misled  you — the  door  is  safe." 

He  parted  back  her  disheveled  hair  caressingly  as  he 
spoke.  Incapable  of  doubting  the  lightest  word  that  fell 
from  his  lips,  and  hearing  no  suspicious  or  unwonted  sound 
in  the  room,  she  never  attempted  to  justify  her  suspicions. 
As  she  again  rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  a  vague  mis- 
giving oppressed  her  heart,  and  drew  from  her  an  irrepressi- 
ble sigh ;  but  she  gave  her  apprehensions  no  expression  in 
words.     After  listening  for  a  moment  more  to  assure  him- 

12 


266  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

self  of  the  security  of  the  latch,  the  Goth  resumed  insensi- 
bly the  conteniplalions  from  which  he  had  been  disturbed; 
once  more  his  head  drooped,  and  again  his  hands  returned 
mechanically  to  their  old  listless  position,  side  by  side,  on 
the  scabbard  of  his  sword. 

The  faint,  fickle  flames  still  rose  and  fell,  gleaming  here 
and  sinking  there;  the  latch  sounded  sharply  in  its  socket; 
the  thunder  yet  uttered  its  surly  peal,  but  the  wind  was 
now  subsiding  into  fainter  moans,  and  the  rain  began  to 
splash  faintly  and  more  faintly  against  the  shutters  without. 
To  the  watchers  in  the  farm-house  nothing  was  altered  to 
the  eye,  and  little  to  the  ear.  Fatal  security !  The  last 
few  minutes  had  darkly  determined  their  future  destinies — 
in  their  loved  and  cherished  retreat  they  were  now  no  long- 
er alone. 

They  heard  no  stealthy  footstep  pacing  round  their  dwell- 
ing; they  saw  no  fierce  eyes  peering  into  the  interior  of  the 
farm-house  through  a  chink  in  the  shutters;  they  marked  no 
dusky  figure  passing  through  the  softly  and  quickly  opened 
door,  and  gliding  into  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room.  Yet, 
now  as  they  sat  together,  communing  in  silence  with  their 
young,  sad  hearts,  the  threatening  figure  of  Goisvintha  stood, 
shrouded  in  congenial  darkness,  under  their  protecting  roof, 
and  in  their  beloved  chamber,  rising  still  and  silent  almost 
at  their  very  sides. 

Though  the  fire  of  her  past  fever  had  raged  again  through 
her  veins,  though  startling  visions  of  the  murders  at  Aqui- 
leia  had  flashed  before  her  mind"  as  the  wild  lightning  before 
her  eyes,  she  had  traced  her  way  through  the  suburbs  and 
along  the  high-road,  and  down  the  little  path  to  the  farm- 
house gate,  without  straying,  without  hesitating.  Regard- 
less of  the  darkness  and  the  storm,  she  had  prowled  about 
the  house,  had  raised  the  latch,  had  waited  for  a  loud  peal  of 
thunder  ere  she  passed  the  door,  and  had  stolen  shadow-like 
into  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room,  with  a  patience  and  a 
determination  that  nothing  could  disturb.  And  now,  when 
she  stood  at  the  goal  of  her  worst  wishes — even  now,  when 
she  looked  down  upon  the  two  beings  by  whom  she  had 
been  thwarted  and  deceived,  her  fierce  self-possession  did 
rot  desert  her;  her  lips  quivered  over  her  locked  teeth,  her 
bosom  heaved  beneath  her  drenched  garments,  but  neither 


AJfTONINA;    OR,  TfiE   FALL   OF   ROME.  267 

sighs  nor  curses,  not  even  a  smile  of  triumph  or  a  movement 
of  anger  escaped  her. 

She  never  looked  at  Antonina;  her  eyes  wandered  not  for 
a  moment  from  Hermanric's  form.  The  quickest,  faintest 
gleam  of  firelight  that  gleamed  over  it  was  followed  through 
its  fitful  course  by  her  eager  glance,  rapid  and  momentary 
as  itself.  Soon  her  attention  fixed  wholly  upon  his  hands, 
as  they  lay  over  the  scabbard  of  his  sword  ;  and  then,  slow- 
ly and  obscurely,  a  new  and  fatal  resolution  sprung  up  with- 
in her.  The  various  emotions  pictured  in  her  face  became 
resolved  into  one  sinister  expression,  and,  without  removing 
her  eyes  from  the  Goth,  she  slowly  drew  from  the  bosom 
folds  of  her  garment  a  long,  sharp  knife. 

The  flames  alternately  trembled  into  light  and  subsided 
into  darkness  as  at  first;  Hermanric  and  Antonina  yet  con- 
tinued in  their  old  positions,  absorbed  in  their  thoughts  and 
in  themselves;  and  still  Goisvintha  remained  unmoved  as 
ever,  knife  in  hand,  watchful,  steady,  silent  as  before. 

But  beneath  the  concealment  of  her  outward  tranquillity 
raged  a  contention  under  which  her  mind  darkened  and. her 
heart  writhed.  Twice  she  returned  the  knife  to  its  former 
hiding-place,  and  twice  she  drew  it  forth  again;  her  cheeks 
grew  paler  and  paler,  she  pressed  her  clenched  hand  con- 
vulsively over  her  bosom,  and  leaned  back  languidly  against 
the  wall  behind  her.  No  thought  of  Antonina  had  part  in 
this  great  strife  of  secret  emotions;  her  wrath  had  too  much 
of  anguish  in  it  to  be  wrath  against  a  stranger  and  an  enemy. 

After  a  lapse  of  a  few  moments  more,  her  strength  re- 
turned— her  firmness  was  aroused.  The  last  traces  of  grief 
and  despair  that  had  hitherto  appeared  in  her  eyes  vanished 
from  them  in  an  instant.  Rage,  vengeance,  ferocity,  lower- 
ed over  them  as  she  crept  stealthily  forward  to  the  very 
side  of  the  Goth ;  and  when  the  next  gleam  of  fire  played 
upon  him,  drew  the  knife  fiercely  across  the  back  of  his 
hands.  The  cut  was  true,  strong,  and  rapid — it  divided  the 
tendons  from  first  to  last — he  was  crippled  for  life. 

At  that  instant  the  fire  touched  the  very  heart  of  the  log 
that  had  been  laid  on  it.  It  crackled  gayly ;  it  blazed  out 
brilliantly.  The  whole  room  was  as  brightly  illuminated 
as  if  a  Christmas  festival  of  ancient  England  had  been  pre- 
paring within  its  walls ! 


268  ANTONTNA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OP    ROME. 

The  warm,  cheerful  light,  showed  the  Goth  the  figure  of 
his  assassin,  ere  the  first  cry  of  anguish  had  died  away  on 
his  lips,  or  the  first  start  of  irrepressible  horror  ceased  to 
vibrate  through  his  frame.  The  cries  of  his  hapless  compan- 
ion, as  the  whole  scene  of  vengeance,  treachery,  and  mutila- 
tion flashed  in  one  terrible  instant  before  her  eyes,  seemed 
not  even  to  reach  his  ears.  Once  he  looked  down  upon  his 
helpless  hands,  when  the  sword  rolled  heavily  from  them  to 
the  floor.  Then  his  gaze  directed  itself  immovably  upon 
Goisvintha,  as  she  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  him,  with 
her  blood-stained  knife,  silent  as  himself. 

There  was  no  fury  —  no  defiance  —  not  even  the  passing 
distortion  of  physical  sufiering  in  his  features,  as  he  now 
looked  on  her.  Blank,  rigid  horror  —  tearless,  voiceless, 
helpless  despair,  seemed  to  have  petrified  the  expression  of 
his  face  into  an  everlasting  form,  unyouthful  and  unhopeful 
— as  if  he  had  been  imprisoned  from  his  childhood,  and  a 
voice  was  now  taunting  him  with  the  pleasures  of  liberty 
from  a  grating  in  his  dungeon  walls.  Not  even  when  An- 
tonina,  recovering  from  her  first  agony  of  terror,  pressed  her 
convulsive  kisses  on  his  cold  cheek,  entreating  him  to  look 
on  her,  did  he  turn  his  head,  or  remove  his  eyes  from  Gois- 
vintha's  form. 

At  length  the  deep,  steady  accents  of  the  woman's  voice 
were  heard  through  the  desolate  silence. 

"  Traitor  in  word  and  thought  you  may  be  yet,  but  trai- 
tor in  deed  you  never  more  shall  be !"  she  began,  pointing 
to  his  hands  with  her  knife.  "Those  hands  that  have  pro- 
tected a  Roman  life  shall  never  grasp  a  Roman  sword,  shall 
never  pollute  again  by  their  touch  a  Gothic  weapon  !  I  re- 
membered, as  I  watched  you  in  the  darkness,  how  the  wom- 
en of  my  race  once  punished  their  recreant  warriors  when 
they  fled  to  them  from  a  defeat.  So  have  I  punished  you  ! 
The  arm  that  served  not  the  cause  of  sister  and  sister's  chil- 
dren— of  king  and  king's  nation — shall  serve  no  other !  I 
am  half  avenged  of  the  murders  at  Aquileia,  now  that  I  am 
avenged  on  you!  Go, fly  with  the  Roman  you  have  chosen, 
to  the  city  of  her  people !    Your  life  as  a  warrior  is  at  an  end !" 

He  made  her  no  answer.  There  are  emotions — the  last  of 
a  life — which  tear  back  from  nature  the  strongest  barriers 
that  custom  raises  to  repress  her,  which  betray  the  lurking 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  kome.  269 

existence  of  the  first  rude  social  feeling  of  the  primeval  dayg 
of  a  great  nation-  in  the  breasts  of  their  most  distant  de- 
scendants, however  widely  their  acquirements,  their  pros- 
perities, and  their  changes  may  seem  to  have  morally  sepa- 
rated them  from  their  ancestors  of  old.  Such  were  the  emo- 
tions now  awakened  in  the  heart  of  the  Goth.  His  Christi- 
anity, his  love,  his  knowledge  of  high  aims,  and  his  experi- 
ence of  new  ideas,  sank  and  deserted  him,  as  though  he  had 
never  known  them.  He  thought  on  his  mutilated  hands, 
and  no  other  spirit  moved  within  him  but  the  ancient  Goth- 
ic spirit  of  centuries  back;  the  inspiration  of  his  nation's 
early  northern  songs,  and  early  northern  achievements — the 
renown  of  courage,  and  the  supremacy  of  strength. 

Vainly  did  Antonina,  in  the  midst  of  the  despair  that 
still  possessed  her,  yearn  for  a  word  from  his  lips,  or  a 
glance  from  his  eyes ;  vainly  did  her  trembling  fingers — 
tearing  the  bandages  from  her  robe — staunch  the  blood  on 
his  wounded  hands ;  vainly  did  her  voice  call  on  him  to  fly 
and  summon  help  from  his  companions  in  the  camp !  His 
mind  was  far  away,  brooding  over  the  legends  of  the  battle- 
fields of  his  ancestors,  remembering  how,  even  in  the  day 
of  victory,  thej'^  slew  themselves  if  they  were  crippled  in  the 
fray,  how  they  scorned  to  exist  for  other  interests  than  the 
interests  of  strife,  how  they  mutilated  traitors  as  Goisvintha 
had  mutilated  him  !  Such  were  the  objects  that  enchained 
his  inward  faculties,  while  his  outward  senses  were  still  en- 
thralled by  the  horrible  fascination  that  existed  for  him,  in 
the  presence  of  the  assassin  by  his  side.  His  very  con- 
sciousness of  his  existence,  though  he  moved  and  breathed, 
seemed  to  have  ceased. 

"You  thought  to  deceive  me  in  my  sickness,  you  hoped 
to  profit  by  my  death,"  resumed  Goisvintha,  returning  con- 
temptuously her  victim's  glance.  "You  trusted  in  the 
night,  and  the  darkness,  and  the  storm — you  were  secure  in 
your  boldness,  in  your  strength,  in  the  secrecy  of  this  lurk- 
ing-place that  you  have  chosen  for  your  treachery;  but 
your  stratagems  and  your  expectations  have  failed  you  I 
At  Aquileia  I  learned  to  be  wily  and  watchful  as  you!  I 
discovered  your  desertion  of  the  warriors  and  the  camp ;  I 
penetrated  the  paths  to  your  hiding-place;  I  entered  it  as 
softly  as  I  once  departed  from  the  dwelling  where  my  chil- 


210  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

dren  were  slain !  In  ray  just  vengeance  I  have  treated  yori 
as  treacherously  as  you  would  have  treated  me/  Remem- 
ber your  murdered  brother ;  remember  the  child  I  put  into 
your  arms  wounded,  and  received  from  them  dead;  remem- 
ber your  broken  oaths  and  forgotten  promises,  and  make  to 
your  nation,  to  your  duties,  and  to  me,  the  atonement — the 
last  and  the  only  one — that  in  my  mercy  I  have  left  in  your 
power — the  atonement  of  death  !" 

Again  she  paused,  and  again  no  reply  awaited  her.  Still 
the  Goth  neither  moved  nor  spoke,  and  still  Antonina  — 
kneeling  unconsciously  upon  the  sword,  now  useless  to  him 
forever — continued  to  staunch  the  blood  on  his  hands  with 
a  mechanical  earnestness  that  seemed  to  shut  out  the  con- 
templation of  every  other  object  from  her  eyes.  The  tears 
streamed  incessantly  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  never  turned 
toward  Goisvintha,  never  suspended  her  occupation. 

Meanwhile  the  fire  still  blazed  noisily  on  the  cheerful 
hearth ;  but  the  storm,  as  if  disdaining  the  office  of  height- 
ening the  human  horror  of  the  farm-house  scene,  was  rapid- 
ly subsiding.  The  thunder  pealed  less  frequently  and  less 
loudly,  the  wind  fell  into  intervals  of  noiseless  calm,  and  oc- 
casionally the  moonlight  streamed  in  momentary  brightness 
through  the  ragged  edges  of  the  fast-breaking  clouds.  The 
breath  of  the  still  morning  was  already  moving  upon  the 
firmament  of  the  stormy  night. 

"  Has  life  its  old  magic  for  you  yet  ?"  continued  Goisvin- 
tha, in  tones  of  pitiless  reproach.  "  Have  you  forgotten, 
with  the  spirit  of  your  people,  the  end  for  which  your  an- 
cestors lived  ?  Is  not  your  sword  at  your  feet  ?  Is  not  the 
knife  in  my  hand  ?  Do  not  the  waters  of  the  Tiber,  rolling 
yonder  to  the  sea,  offer  to  you  the  grave  of  oblivion  that 
all  may  seek?  Die,  then!  In  your  last  hour  be  a  Goth; 
even  to  the  Romans  you  are  worthless  now !  Already  your 
comrades  have  discovered  your  desertion;  will  you  wait  till 
you  are  hung  for  a  rebel  ?  Will  you  live  to  implore  the 
mercy  of  your  enemies,  or,  dishonored  and  defenseless,  will 
you  endeavor  to  escape  ?  You  are  of  the  blood  of  my  fam- 
ily, but  again  I  say  it  to  you — die !" 

His  pale  lips  trembled  ;  he  looked  round  for  the  first  time 
at  Antonina,  but  his  utterance  struggled  ineffectually,  even 
yet,  against  unyielding  despair.     He  was  still  silent. 


ANTOXmA;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  27l 

Goisvintha  turned  from  him  disdainfully,  and  approaching 
the  fire  sat  down  before  it,  bending  her  haggard  features 
over  the  brilliant  flames.  For  a  few  minutes  she  remained 
absorbed  in  her  evil  thoughts,  but  no  articulate  word  es- 
caped her;  and  when  at  length  she  again  abruptly  broke 
the  silence,  it  was  not  to  address  the  Goth,  or  to  fix  her  eyes 
on  him,  as  before. 

Still  cowering  over  the  fire,  apparently  as  regardless  of 
the  presence  of  the  two  beings  whose  happiness  she  had  just 
crushed  forever,  as  if  they  had  never  existed,  she  began  to 
recite,  in  solemn,  measured,  chanting  tones,  a  legend  of  the 
darkest  and  earliest  age  of  Gothic  history,  keeping  time  to 
herself  with  the  knife  that  she  still  held  in  her  hand.  The 
malignity  in  her  expression,  as  she  pursued  her  employment, 
betrayed  the  heartless  motive  that  animated  it,  almost  as 
palpably  as  the  words  of  the  composition  she  was  repeat- 
ing.    Thus  she  now  spoke : 

"The  tempest  god's  pinions  o'ershadow  the  sky; 
The  waves  leap  to  welcome  the  storm  that  is  nigh ; 
Through  the  hall  of  old  Odin  re-echo  the  shocks 
That  the  fierce  ocean  hurls  at  his  rampart  of  rocks, 
As,  alone  on  the  crags  that  soar  up  from  the  sands, 
With  his  virgin  Siona  the  young  Agnar  stands ; 
Tears  sprinkle  their  dew  on  the  sad  maiden's  cheeks, 
And  the  voice  of  the  chieftain  sinks  low  while  he  speaks : 

'  Crippled  in  the  fight  forever  ; 

Numbered  with  the  worse  than  slain; 
Weak,  deform'd,  disabled !  — never 

Can  I  join  the  hosts  again  ! 
With  the  battle  that  is  won 
Agnar's  earthly  course  is  run ! 

'When  thy  shatter'd  frame  must  yield, 
If  thou  seek'st  a  future  field  ; 
When  thy  arm  that  sway'd  the  strife, 
Fails  to  shield  thy  worthless  life ; 
When  thy  hands  no  more  afford 
Full  employment  to  the  sword ; 
Then,  preserve — respect  thy  name ; 
Meet  thy  death — to  live  is  shame ! 

Such  is  Odin's  mighty  will ; 

Such  commands  I  now  fulfill !' " 

At  this  point  in  the  legend  she  paused,  and  turned  sud- 
denly to  observe  its  eflfect  on  Hermanric.     All  its  bonible 


272  '      ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

application  to  himself  thrilled  through  his  heart.  His  head 
drooped,  and  a  low  groan  burst  from  his  lips.  But  even  this 
evidence  of  the  suffering  she  was  inflicting  failed  to  melt  the 
iron  malignity  of  Goisvintha's  determination. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  death  of  Agnar  ?"  she  cried. 
"  When  you  were  a  child,  I  sung  it  to  you  ere  you  slept, 
and  you  vowed,  as  you  heard  it,  that  when  you  were  a  man, 
if  you  suffered  his  wounds  you  would  die  his  death!  He 
was  crippled  in  a  victory,  yet  he  slew  himself  on  the  day  of 
his  triumph ;  you  are  crippled  in  your  treachery,  and  have 
forgotten  your  boy's  honor,  and  will  live  in  the  darkness  of 
your  shame !  Have  you  lost  remembrance  of  that  ancient 
song?  You  heard  it  from  me  in  the  morning  of  your  years; 
listen,  and  you  shall  hear  it  to  the  end :  it  is  the  dirge  for 
your  approaching  death !" 

She  continued : 

"  'SioNA,  mourn  not! — where  I  go 
The  warriors  feel  nor  pain  nor  woe ; 
They  raise  aloft  the  gleaming  steel, 
Their  wounds  yet  warm,  untended  heal ; 
Their  arrows  bellow  through  the  air 
In  showers,  as  they  battle  there ; 
In  mighty  cups  their  wine  is  pour'd, 
Bright  virgins  throng  their  midnight  hoard  J 

'Yet  think  not  that  I  die  unmov'd ; 

I  mourn  the  doom  that  sets  me  free, 
As  I  think,  betroth'd — belov'd, 

On  all  the  joys  I  lose  in  thee ! 
To  form  my  boys  to  meet  the  fray, 

Where'er  the  Gothic  banner  streams ; 
To  guard  thy  night,  to  glad  thy  day, 
V         Made  all  tlie  bliss  of  Agnau's  dreams — 
Dreams  that  must  now  be  all  forgot. 
Earth's  joys  have  passed  from  Agnak's  loti 

*  See,  athwart  the  face  of  light 
Float  the  clouds  of  sullen  Night  I 
Odin's  warriors  watch  for  me 
By  the  earth-encircling  sea ! 
The  waters'  dirges  howl  my  knell ; 
'Tis  time  I  die — Farewell — Farewell!' 

*'  He  rose  with  a  smile  to  prepare  for  the  spring, 
He  flew  from  the  rock  like  a  bird  on  the  wing ; 
The  sea  met  her  prey  with  a  leap  and  a  roar, 
And  the  maid  stood  alone  by  the  wave-riven  shore  I 


ANTOinNA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  273 

The  winds  mutter'd  deep  with  a  woe-boding  sound. 
As  she  wept  o'er  the  footsteps  he'd  left  on  the  ground  ;  • 

And  the  wild  vultures  shriek'd,  for  the  chieftain  who  spread 
Their  battle-field  banquets  was  laid  with  the  dead.' 

As,  with  a  slow  and  measured  emphasis,  Goisvintha  pro- 
nounced the  last  lines  of  the  poem  she  again  approached 
Hermanric.  But  the  eyes  of  the  Goth  sought  her  no  longer. 
She  had  calmed  the  emotions  that  she  had  hoped  to  irritate. 
Of  the  latter  divisions  of  her  legend,  those  only  which  were 
pathetic  had  arrested  the  lost  chieftain's  attention,  and  the 
blunted  faculties  of  his  heart  recovered  their  old  refinement 
as  he  listened  to  them.  A  solemn  composure  of  love,  grief, 
and  pity  appeared  in  the  glance  of  affection  that  he  now  di- 
rected on  the  girl's  despairing  countenance.  Years  of  good 
thoughts,  an  existence  of  tender  cares,  an  eternity  of  youth- 
ful devotion,  spoke  in  that  rapt,  momentary,  eloquent  gaze, 
and  imprinted  on  his  expression  a  character  ineffably  beau- 
tiful and  calm — a  nobleness  above  the  human,  and  approach- 
ing the  angelic  and  divine. 

Intuitively  Goisvintha  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes, 
and  looked,  like  him,  on  the  Roman  girl's  face.  A  lowering 
expression  of  hatred  replaced  the  scorn  that  had  hitherto 
distorted  her  passionate  features.  Mechanically  her  hand 
again  half  raised  the  knife,  and  the  accents  of  her  wrathful 
voice  once  more  disturbed  the  sacred  silence  of  affection  and 
gi-Jef. 

"  Is  it  for  the  girl  there  that  you  would  still  live  ?"  she 
cried,  sternly.  "I  foreboded  it,  coward,  when  I  first  looked 
on  you  !  I  prepared  for  it,  when  I  wounded  you  !  I  made 
sure  that  when  my  anger  again  threatened  this  new  ruler  of 
your  thoughts  and  mover  of  your  actions,  you  should  have 
lost  the  power  to  divert  it  from  her  again  !  Think  you  that, 
because  my  disdain  has  delayed  it,  my  vengeance  on  her  is 
abandoned  ?  Long  since  I  swore  to  you  that  she  should  die, 
and  I  will  hold  to  ray  purpose  !  I  have  punished  yon,  I  will 
slay  her!  Can  you  shield  her  from  the  blow  to-night,  as 
you  shielded  her  in  your  tent  ?  You  are  weaker  before  me 
than  a  child !" 

She  ceased  abruptly,  for  at  this  moment  a  noise  of  hurry- 
ing footsteps  and  contending  voices  became  suddenly  au- 
dible from  without.     As  she  heard  it,  a  ghastly  paleness 

12* 


274  antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome. 

chased  the  flush  of  anger  from  her  cheeks,  "With  the 
promptitude  of  apprehension  she  snatched  the  sword  otHer- 
manric  from  under  Antonina,  and  ran  it  through  the  staples 
intended  to  hold  the  rude  bar  of  the  door.  The  next  instant 
the  footsteps  sounded  on  the  garden  path,  and  the  next  the 
door  was  assailed. 

The  good  sword  held  firm,  but  the  frail  barrier  that  it  sus- 
tained yielded  at  the  second  shock,  and  fell  inward,  shatter- 
ed, to  the  floor.  Instantly  the  gap  was  darkened  by  human 
forms,  and  the  firelight  glowed  over  the  repulsive  counte- 
nances of  two  Huns  who  headed  the  intruders,  habited  in 
complete  armor  and  furnished  with  naked  swords. 

"  Yield  yourself  prisoner  by  Alaric's  command  !"  cried  one 
of  the  barbarians ;  "  or  you  shall  be  slain  as  a  deserter  where 
you  now  stand !" 

The  Goth  had  risen  to  his  feet  as  the  door  was  burst  in. 
The  arrival  of  his  pursuers  seemed  to  restore  his  lost  ener- 
gies, to  deliver  him  at  once  from  an  all-powerful  thralldom. 
An  expression  of  triumph  and  defiance  shone  over  his  steady 
features,  when  he  heard  the  summons  of  the  Hun,  For  a 
moment  he  stooped  toward  Antonina,  as  she  clung  fainting 
round  him.  His  mouth  quivered  and  his  eye  glistened,  as 
he  kissed  her  cold  cheek.  In  that  moment  all  the  hopeless- 
ness of  his  position,  all  the  worthlessness  of  his  marred  ex- 
istence, all  the  ignominy  preparing  for  him  when  he  return- 
ed to  the  camp,  rushed  over  his  mind.  In  that  moment  the 
worst  horrors  of  departure  and  death,  the  fiercest  rackings 
of  love  and  despair,  assailed  but  did  not  overcome  him.  In 
that  moment  he  paid  his  final  tribute  to  the  dues  of  affection, 
and  braced  for  the  last  time  the  fibres  of  manly  dauntlessness 
and  Spartan  resolve ! 

The  next  instant  he  tore  himself  from  the  girl's  arms;  the 
old  hero-spirit  of  his  conquering  nation  possessed  every  nerve 
in  his  frame;  his  eye  brightened  again  gloriously  with  its  lost 
warrior  light,  his  limbs  grew  firm,  his  face  Mas  calm,  he  con- 
fronted the  Huns  with  a  mien  of  authority  and  a  smile  of  dis- 
dain, and,  as  he  presented  to  them  his  defenseless  breast,  not 
the  faintest  tremor  was  audible  in  his  voice,  while  he  cried, 
in  accents  of  steady  command, 

"Strike!     I  yield  not !" 

The  Huns  rushed  forward  with  fierce  cries,  and  buried 


ANTONINA  ;  OK,  THE  FALL  OP  KOME.         2*75 

their  swords  in  his  body.  His  warm  young  blood  gushed 
out  upon  the  floor  of  the  dwelling  which  had  been  the  lovo- 
shrine  of  the  heart  that  shed  it.  Without  a  sigh  from  his 
lips,  or  a  convulsion  on  his  features,  he  fell  dead  at  the  feet 
of  his  enemies;  all  the  valor  of  his  disposition,  all  the  gentle- 
ness of  his  heart,  all  the  vigor  of  his  form,  resolved  in  one 
humble  instant  into  a  senseless  and  burdensome  mass ! 

Antonina  beheld  the  assassination,  but  was  spared  the 
sight  of  the  death  that  followed  it.  She  fell  insensible  by 
the  side  of  her  young  warrior — her  dress  was  spotted  with 
his  blood,  her  form  was  motionless  as  his  own. 

"Leave  him  there  to  rot!  His  pride  in  his  superiority 
will  not  serve  him  now — even  to  a  grave !"  cried  the  Hun 
leader  to  his  companions,  as  he  dried  on  the  garments  of  the 
corpse  his  reeking  sword. 

"And  this  woman,"  demanded  one  of  his  comrades,  "is 
she  to  be  liberated  or  secured  ?" 

He  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  Goisvintha.  During  the  brief 
scene  of  the  assassination  the  very  exercise  of  her  faculties 
seemed  to  have  been  suspended.  She  had  never  stirred  a 
limb,  or  uttered  a  word. 

The  Hun  recognized  her  as  the  woman  who  had  question- 
ed and  bribed  him  at  the  camp.  "  She  is  the  traitor's  kins- 
woman, and  is  absent  from  the  tents  without  leave,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Take  her  prisoner  to  Alaric ;  she  will  bear  us  wit- 
ness that  we  have  done  as  he  commanded  us.  As  for  the 
girl,"  he  continued,  glancing  at  the  blood  on  Antonina's 
dress,  and  stirring  her  figure  carelessly  with  his  foot,  "  she 
may  be  dead  too,  for  she  neither  moves  nor  speaks,  and  may 
be  left,  like  her  protector,  to  lie  graveless  where  she  is.  For 
us,  it  is  time  that  we  depart — the  king  is  impatient  of  delay." 

As  they  led  her  roughly  from  the  house  Goisvintha  shud- 
dered, and  attempted  to  pause  for  a  moment  when  she  pass- 
ed the  corpse  of  the  Goth.  Death,  that  can  extinguish  en- 
mities as  well  as  sunder  loves,  rose  awful  and  appealing,  as 
she  looked  her  last  at  her  murdered  brother,  and  remember- 
ed her  murdered  husband.  Xo  tears  flowed  from  her  eyes, 
no  groans  broke  from  her  bosom ;  but  there  was  a  pang,  a 
last  momentary  pang,  of  grief  and  pity  at  her  heart,  as  she 
murmured,  while  they  forced  her  away, "  Aquileia !  Aquileia ! 
have  I  outlived  thee  for  this !" 


276  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

The  troops  retired.  For  a  few  minutes  silence  ruled  un- 
interruptedly over  the  room  where  the  senseless  girl  still  lay 
by  the  side  of  all  that  was  left  to  her  of  the  object  of  her 
first  youthful  love.  But  ere  long  footsteps  again  approach- 
ed the  farm-house  door,  and  two  Goths,  who  had  formed 
part  of  the  escort  allotted  to  the  Hun,  approached  the 
young  chieftain's  corpse.  Quickly  and  silently  they  raised 
it  in  their  arms  and  bore  it  into  the  garden.  There  they 
scooped  a  shallow  hole  with  their  swords  in  the  fresh,  flower- 
laden  turf;  and  having  laid  the  body  there,  they  hastily  cov- 
ered it,  and  rapidly  departed  without  returning  to  the  house. 

These  men  had  served  among  the  warriors  committed  to 
Hermanric's  command.  By  many  acts  of  frank  generosity 
and  encouragement  the  young  chieftain  had  won  their  rough 
attachment.  They  mourned  his  fate,  but  dared  not  obstruct 
the  sentence,  or  oppose  the  act  that  determined  it.  At  their 
own  risk  they  had  secretly  quitted  the  advancing  ranks  of 
their  comrades,  to  use  the  last  privilege  and  obey  the  last 
dictate  of  human  kindness ;  and  they  thought  not  of  the 
lonely  girl,  as  they  now  left  her  desolate,  and  hurried  away 
to  re-assume  their  appointed  stations  ere  it  was  too  late. 

The  turf  lay  caressingly  round  the  young  warrior's  form; 
its  crushed  flowers  pressed  softly  against  his  cold  cheek; 
the  fragrance  of  the  new  morning  wafted  its  pure  incense 
gently  about  his  simple  grave !  Around  him  flowered  the 
delicate  plants  that  the  hand  of  Antonina  had  raised  to 
please  his  eye.  Near  him  stood  the  dwelling  sacred  to  the 
first  and  last  kiss  that  he  had  impressed  upon  her  lips ;  and 
about  him,  on  all  sides,  rose  the  plains  and  woodlands  that 
had  engrossed  with  her  image  the  devotion  of  all  her  dear- 
est thoughts.  He  lay,  in  his  death,  in  the  midst  of  the 
magic  circle  of  the  best  joys  of  his  life !  It  was  a  fitter 
burial-place  for  the  earthly  relics  of  that  bright  and  gener- 
ous spirit,  than  the  pit  in  the  carnage-laden  battle-field,  or 
the  desolate  sepulchres  of  a  northern  land  I 


autonina:  OB,  the  fall  of  bomb.  211 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    GUARDIAN   EESTORED. 

Not  long  is  the  new-made  grave  left  unwatched  to  the 
Bolemn  guardianship  of  Solitude  and  Night.  More  than  a 
few  minutes  have  scarcely  elapsed  since  it  was  dug,  yet  al- 
ready human  footsteps  press  its  yielding  surface,  and  a  hu- 
man glance  scans  attentively  its  small  and  homely  mound. 

But  it  is  not  Antonina  whom  he  loved ;  it  is  not  Goisvin- 
tha,  through  whose  vengeance  he  was  lost,  who  now  looks 
upon  the  earth  above  the  young  warrior's  corpse.  It  is  a 
stranger,  an  outcast;  a  man  lost,  dishonored,  abandoned — 
it  is  the  solitary  and  ruined  Ulpius  who  now  gazes  with 
indifferent  eyes  upon  the  peaceful  garden  and  the  eloquent 
grave. 

In  the  destinies  of  woe  committed  to  the  keeping  of  the 
night,  the  Pagan  had  been  fiUally  included.  The  destruc- 
tion that  had  gone  forth  against  the  body  of  the  young  man 
who  lay  beneath  the  earth,  had  overtaken  the  mind  of  the 
old  man  who  stood  over  his  simple  grave.  The  frame  of 
Ulpius,  with  all  its  infirmities,  was  still  there ;  but  the  soul 
of  ferocious  patience  and  unconquerable  daring  that  had 
lighted  it  grandly  in  its  ruin,  was  gone.  Over  the  long  an- 
guish of  that  woeful  life  the  veil  of  self-oblivion  had  closed 
forever ! 

He  had  been  dismissed  by  Alaric,  but  he  had  not  returned 
to  the  city  whither  he  was  bidden.  Throughout  the  night 
he  had  wandered  about  the  lonely  suburbs,  striving  in  se- 
cret and  horrible  suffering  for  the  mastery  of  his  mind. 
There  did  the  overthrow  of  all  his  hopes  from  the  Goths 
expand  rapidly  into  the  overthrow  of  the  whole  intellect 
that  had  created  his  aspirations.  There  had  reason  burst 
the  bonds  that  had  so  long  chained,  perverted,  degraded  it ! 
At  length,  wandering  hither  and  thither,  he  had  dragged  the 
helpless  body,  possessed  no  longer  by  the  perilous  mind,  to 
the  farm-house  garden  in  which  he  now  stood,  gazing  al- 
ternately at  the  upturned  sods  of  the  chieftain's  grave,  and 


278  AXTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

the  red  gleam  of  the  fire  as  it  glowed  fi-om  the  dreary  room, 
through  the  gap  of  the  shattered  door. 

His  faculties  were  fatally  disordered,  rather  than  utterly 
destroyed.  His  penetration,  his  firmness,  and  his  cunning 
were  gone  ;  but  a  wreck  of  memory,  useless  and  unmanage- 
able— a  certain  capacity  for  momentary  observation,  still  re- 
mained to  him.  The  shameful  miscarriage  in  the  tent  of 
Alaric,  which  had  overthrown  his  faculties,  liad  passed  from 
him  as  an  event  that  never  happened ;  but  he  remembered 
fragments  of  his  past  existence ;  he  still  retained  a  vague 
consciousness  of  the  ruling  purpose  of  his  whole  life. 

These  embryo  reflections,  disconnected  and  unsustained, 
flitted  to  and  fro  over  his  dark  mind,  as  luminous  exhala- 
tions over  a  marsh — rising  and  sinking,  harmless  and  delu- 
sive, fitful  and  irregular.  What  he  remembered  of  the  past 
he  remembered  carelessly,  viewing  it  with  as  vacant  a  curi- 
osity as  if  it  were  the  visionary  spectacle  of  another  man's 
struggles,  and  misfortunes,  and  hopes;  acting  under  it  as 
under  a  mysterious  influence,  neither  the  end  nor  the  reason 
of  which  he  cared  to  discover.  For  the  future^  it  was  to  his 
thoughts  a  perfect  blank.  For  the  present,  it  was  a  jarring 
combination  of  bodily  weariness  and  mental  repose. 

He  sliuddered  as  he  stood  shelterless  under  the  open  heav- 
en. The  cold  that  he  had  defied  in  the  vaults  of  the  rifted 
wall,  pierced  him  in  the  farm-house  garden  ;  his  limbs  which 
had  resisted  repose  on  the  hard  journey  from  Rome  to  the 
camp  of  the  Goths,  now  trembled  so  that  he  was  fain  to  rest 
them  on  the  ground.  For  a  short  time  he  sat  glaring  with 
vacant  and  affrighted  eyes  upon  the  open  dwelling  before 
him,  as  though  he  longed  to  enter  it  but  dared  not.  At 
length  the  temptation  of  the  ruddy  fire-light  seemed  to  van- 
quish his  irresolution  ;  he  rose  with  difficulty,  and  slowly 
and  hesitatingly  entered  the  house. 

He  had  advanced,  thief-like,  but  a  few  steps;  he  had  felt 
but  for  a  moment  the  welcome  warmth  of  the  fire,  when  the 
fignre  of  Antonina,  still  extended  insensible  upon  the  floor, 
caught  his  eye ;  he  approached  it  with  eager  curiosity,  and, 
raising  the  girl  on  his  arm,  looked  at  her  with  a  long  and 
rigid  scrutiny. 

For  some  moments  no  expression  of  recognition  passed 
his  lips  or  appeared  on  bis  countenance,  as,  with  a  raechan- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  romb.  2V9 

ical,  doting  gesture  of  fondness  he  smoothed  her  disheveled 
hair  over  her  foi*ehead.  While  he  was  thus  engaged — while 
the  remains  of  the  gentleness  of  his  childhood  were  thus 
awfully  revived  in  the  insanity  of  his  age,  a  musical  string, 
wound  I'ound  a  small  piece  of  gilt  wood,  fell  from  its  con- 
cealment in  her  bosom ;  he  snatched  it  from  the  ground — it 
was  the  fragment  of  her  broken  lute,  which  had  never  quit- 
ted her  since  the  night  when,  in  her  innocent  grief,  she  had 
wept  over  it  in  her  maiden  bed-chamber. 

Small,  obscure,  insignificant  as  it  was,  this  little  token 
touched  the  fibre  in  the  Pagan's  shattered  mind  which  the 
all-eloquent  form  and  presence  of  its  hapless  mistress  had 
failed  to  reach ;  his  memory  flew  back  instantly  to  the  gar- 
den on  the  Pincian  Mount  and  to  his  past  duties  in  Nume- 
rian's  household,  but  spoke  not  to  him  of  the  calamities  he 
had  wreaked  since  that  period  on  his  confiding  master.  His 
imagination  presented  to  him  at  this  moment  but  one  image 
—  his  servitude  in  the  Christian's  abode;  and  as  he  now 
looked  on  the  girl  he  could  regard  himself  but  in  one  light 
— as  "  the  guardian  restored." 

"  What  does  she  with  her  music  here  ?"  he  whispered,  ap- 
prehensively. "  This  is  not  her  father's  house,  and  the  gar- 
den 5'^onder  looks  not  from  the  summit  of  the  hill !" 

As  he  curiously  examined  the  room,  the  red  spots  on  the 
floor  suddenly  attracted  his  attention.  A  panic,  a  frantic 
teiTor,  seemed  instantly  to  overwhelm  him.  He  rose  with  a 
cry  of  horror,  and,  still  holding  the  girl  on  his  arm,  hurried 
out  into  the  garden  trembling  and  breathless,  as  if  the 
weapon  of  an  assassin  had  scared  him  from  the  house. 

The  shock  of  her  rough  removal,  the  sudden  influence  of 
the  fresh,  cold  air,  restored  Antonina  to  the  consciousness 
of  life  at  the  moment  when  Ulpius,  unable  to  support  her 
longer,  laid  her  against  the  little  heap  of  turf  which  mai-ked 
the  position  of  the  young  chieftain's  grave ;  her  eyes  opened 
wildly;  their  first  glance  fixed  upon  the  shattered  door  and 
the  empty  room.  She  rose  from  the  ground,  advanced  a 
few  steps  toward  the  house,  then  paused,  rigid,  breathless, 
silent,  and,  turning  slowly,  faced  the  uptui-ned  turf 

The  grave  was  all -eloquent  of  its  tenant.  His  cuirass, 
which  the  soldiers  had  thought  to  bury  with  the  body  that 
it  had  defended  in  former  days,  had  been  overlooked  in  the: 


280         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

haste  of  the  secret  interment,  and  lay  partly  imbedded  in 
the  broken  earth,  partly  exposed  to  view — a  simple  monu- 
ment over  a  simple  grave !  Her  tearless,  dilated  eyes  look- 
ed down  on  it  as  though  they  would  number  each  blade  of 
grass,  each  morsel  of  earth  by  which  it  was  surrounded  ! 
Her  hair  waved  idly  about  her  cheeks,  as  the  light  wind  flut- 
tered it ;  but  no  expression  passed  over  her  face,  no  gestures  • 
escaped  her  limbs.  Her  mind  toiled  and  quivered,  as  if 
crushed  by  a  fiery  burden ;  but  her  heart  was  voiceless  and 
her  body  was  still. 

Ulpius  had  stood  unnoticed  by  her  side.  At  this  moment 
he  moved  so  as  to  confront  her,  and  she  suddenly  looked  up 
at  him.  A  momentary  expression  of  bewilderment  and  sus- 
picion lightened  the  heavy  vacancy  of  despair  which  had 
chased  their  natural  and  feminine  tenderness  from  lier  eyes, 
but  it  disappeared  rapidly.  She  turned  from  the  Pagan, 
knelt  down  by  the  grave,  and  pressed  her  face  and  bosom 
against  the  little  mound  of  turf  beneath  her. 

No  voice  comforted  her,  no  arm  caressed  her,  as  her  mind 
now  began  to  penetrate  tho  mysteries,  to  probe  the  darkest 
depths  of  the  long  night's  calamities !  Unaided  and  unsol- 
aced,  while  the  few  and  waning  stars  glimmered  from  their 
places  in  the  sky,  while  the  sublime  stillness  of  tranquillized 
nature  stretched  around  her,  she  knelt  at  the  altar  of  death, 
and  raised  her  soul  upward  to  the  great  heaven  above  her, 
charged  with  its  sacred  offering  of  human  grief! 

Long  did  she  thus  remain ;  and  when  at  length  she  arose 
from  the  ground — when,  approaching  the  Pagan,  she  fixed 
on  him  her  tearless,  dreary  eyes,  he  quailed  before  her  glance, 
as  his  dull  faculties  struggled  vainly  to  resume  the  old  in- 
forming power  that  they  had  now  forever  lost.  Nothing 
but  the  remembrance  aroused  by  his  first  sight  of  the  frag- 
ment of  the  lute  lived  within  him  even  yet,  as  he  whispered 
to  her  in  low,  entreating  tones : 

"  Come  home — come  home  !  Your  father  may  return  be- 
fore us — come  home  !" 

As  the  words  "home"  and  "father" — those  household 
gods  of  the  heart's  earliest  existence — struck  upon  her  ear,  a 
change  flashed  with  electric  suddenness  over  the  girl's  whole 
aspect.  She  raised  her  wan  hands  to  the  sky ;  all  her  wom- 
an's tenderness  repossessed  itself  of  her  heai't ;  and  as  she 


AirroNrjfA;   or,  the  fall  of  rome.  281 

again  knelt  down  over  the  grave,  her  sobs  rose  audibly 
tlivough  the  calmed  and  fragrant  air. 

With  Hermanric's  corpse  beneath  her,  with  the  blood- 
sprinkled  room  behind  her,  with  a  hostile  army  and  a  fam- 
ine-wasted city  beyond  her,  it  was  only  through  that  flood 
of  tears,  that  healing  passion  of  gentle  emotions,  that  she 
rose  superior  to  the  multiplied  horrors  of  her  situation  at 
the  very  moment  when  her  faculties  and  her  life  seemed 
sinking  under  them  alike.  Fully,  freely,  bitterly  she  wept, 
on  the  kindly  and  parent  earth — the  patient,  friendly  ground 
that  once  bore  the  light  footsteps  of  the  first  of  a  race  not 
created  for  death — that  now  holds  in  its  sheltering  arms  the 
loved  ones  whom,  in  mourning,  we  lay  there  to  sleep;  that 
shall  yet  be  bound  to  the  farthermost  of  its  depths,  when 
the  sun-bright  presence  of  returning  spirits  shines  over  its 
renovated  frame,  and  love  is  resumed  in  angel  perfection  at 
the  point  where  death  suspended  it  in  mortal  frailness ! 

"  Come  home — your  father  is  awaiting  you — come  home  !" 
repeated  the  Pagan,  vacantly,  moving  slowly  away  as  he 
spoke. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  started  up,  and,  clasping  his 
arm  with  her  trembling  fingers,  to  arrest  his  progress,  look- 
ed affrightedly  into  his  seared  and  listless  countenance.  As 
she  thus  gazed  on  him  she  appeared  for  the  first  time  to  rec- 
ognize him.  Fear  and  astonishment  mingled  in  her  expres- 
sion with  grief  and  despair,  as  she  sunk  at  his  feet,  moaning, 
in  tones  of  piercing  entreaty, 

"  Oh,  Ulpius  ! — if  Ulpius  you  are — have  pity  on  me,  and 
take  me  to  my  father  !  My  father !  my  father !  In  all  the 
lonely  world  there  is  nothing  left  to  me  but  my  father!" 

"  Why  do  you  weep  to  me  about  your  broken  lute  ?"  an- 
swered Ulpius,  with  a  dull,  unmeaning  smile.  "It  was  not 
J  that  destroyed  it!" 

"  They  have  slain  him  !"  she  shrieked  distractedly,  heed- 
less of  the  Pagan's  reply.  "I  saw  them^raw  their  swords 
on  him!  See, his  blood  is  on  me — me! — Antonina, whom  he 
protected  and  loved  !  Look  there,  that  is  a  grave  —  his 
grave  —  I  know  it!  I  have  never  seen  him  since;  he  is 
down — down  there !  under  the  flowers  I  grew  to  gather  for 
him  !  They  slew  him ;  and  when  I  knew  it  not,  they  have 
bulled  him  ! — or  you — you  have  buried  him  !     You  have 


282         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

hidden  him  under  the  cold  garden  earth  !  He  is  gone  I — 
Ah,  gone,  gone — forever  gone  !" 

And  she  flung  herself  again  with  reckless  violence  on  the 
grave.  After  looking  steadfastly  on  her  for  a  moment,  Ul- 
pius  approached  and  raised  her  from  the  earth. 

"  Come  !"  he  cried,  angrily,  "  the  night  grows  on — your 
father  waits !" 

"  The  walls  of  Rome  shut  me  from  my  father !  I  shall 
never  see  my  father,  nor  Hermanric,  again  !"  she  cried,  in 
tones  of  bitter  anguish,  remembering  more  perfectly  all  the 
miseries  of  her  position,  and  struggling  to  release  herself 
from  the  Pagan's  grasp. 

The  icalls  of  Rome!  At  those  words  the  mind  of  TJlpius 
opened  to  a  flow  of  dark  remembrances,  and  lost  the  vis- 
ions that  had  occupied  it  until  that  moment.  He  laughed 
triumphantly. 

"  The  walls  of  Rome  bow  to  rtxy  arm  !"  he  cried,  in  exult- 
ing tones ;  "  I  pierced  them  with  my  good  bar  of  iron  !  I 
wound  through  them  with  my  bright  lantern  !  Spirits  roar- 
ed on  me,  and  struck  me  down,  and  grinned  upon  me  in  the 
thick  darkness,  but  I  passed  the  wall !  The  thunder  pealed 
around  me  as  I  crawled  along  the  winding  rifts ;  but  I  won 
my  way  through  them !  I  came  out  conquering  on  the 
other  side!  Come,  come,  come,  come !  We  will  return  !  I 
know  the  track,  even  in  the  darkness !  I  can  outwatch  the 
sentinels !  You  shall  walk  in  the  pathway  that  I  have  bro- 
ken through  the  bricks !" 

The  girl's  features  lost  for  a  moment  their  expression  of 
grief,  and  grew  rigid  with  horror,  as  she  glanced  at  his  fiery 
eyes,  and  felt  the  fearful  suspicion  of  his  insanity  darkening 
over  her  mind.  She  stood  powerless,  trembling,  unresisting 
in  his  grasp,  without  attempting  to  delude  him  into  depart- 
ure, or  to  appease  him  into  delay. 

"  Why  did  I  make  my  passage  through  the  wall  ?"  mut- 
tered the  Pagan,  i^  a  low,  awe-struck  voice,  suddenly  check- 
ing himself,  as  he  was  about  to  step  forward.  "  Why  did  I 
tear  down  the  strong  brick-work,  and  go  forth  into  the  dark 
suburbs  ?" 

He  paused,  and  for  a  few  moments  struggled  with  his 
purposeless  and  disconnected  thoughts ;  but  a  blank,  a  dark- 
ness, an  annihilation  overwhelmed  Alaric  and  the  Gothic 


ANTONIXA ;    OR,  THE   FALL  OF  ROME.  283 

camp,  which  he  vainly  endeavored  to  disperse.  He  sighed 
bitterly  to  himself,  "  It  is  gone !"  and  still  grasping  Anto- 
nina  by  the  hand,  drew  her  after  him  to  the  garden  gate. 

"  Leave  me  !"  she  shrieked,  as  he  passed  onward  into  the 
pathway  that  led  to  the  high-road.  "Oh,  be  merciful,  and 
leave  me  to  die  where  he  has  died !" 

"  Peace !  or  I  will  rend  you  limb  by  limb,  as  I  rent  the 
stones  from  the  wall  when  I  passed  through  it !"  he  whisper- 
ed to  her  in  fierce  accents,  as  she  struggled  to  escape  him. 
"  You  shall  return  with  me  to  Rome !  You  shall  walk  in 
the  track  that  I  have  made  in  the  rifted  brick-work  !" 

Terror,  anguish,  exhaustion,  overpowered  her  weak  efforts. 
Her  lips  moved,  partly  in  prayer  and  partly  in  ejaculation; 
but  she  spoke  in  murmurs  only,  as  she  mechanically  suffered 
the  Pagan  to  lead  her  onward  by  the  hand. 

They  paced  on  under  the  waning  starlight,  over  the  cold, 
lonely  road,  and  through  the  dreary  and  deserted  suburbs — 
a  fearful  and  discordant  pair !  Coldly,  obediently,  impass- 
ively, as  if  she  were  walking  in  a  dream,  the  spirit-broken 
girl  moved  by  the  side  of  her  scarce  human  leader !  Dis- 
jointed exclamations,  alternating  horribly  between  infantine 
simplicity  and  fierce  wickedness,  poured  incessantly  from 
the  Pagan's  lips,  but  he  never  addressed  himself  further  to 
his  terror-stricken  companion.  So,  wending  rapidly  onward, 
they  gained  .the  Gothic  lines ;  and  here  the  madman  slack- 
ened his  pace,  and  paused,  beast-like,  to  glare  around  him, 
as  he  approached  the  habitations  of  men. 

Still  not  opposed  by  Antonina,  whose  faculties  of  obser- 
vation were  petrified  by  her  terror  into  perfect  inaction, 
even  here,  within  reach  of  the  doubtful  aid  of  the  enemies 
of  her  people,  the  Pagan  crept  forward  through  the  loneli- 
est places  of  the  encampment,  and  guided  by  the  mysterious 
cunning  of  his  miserable  race,  eluded  successfully  the  obser- 
vation of  the  drowsy  sentinels.  Never  bewildered  by  the 
darkness — for  the  moon  had  gone  down — always  led  by  the 
animal  instinct  co-existent  with  his  disease,  he  passed  over 
the  waste  ground  between  the  hostile  encampment  and  the 
city,  and  arrived  triumphant  at  the  heap  of  stones  that 
marked  his  entrance  to  the  rifted  wall. 

For  one  moment  he  stopped,  and  turning  toward  the  girl, 
pointed  proudly  to  the  dark,  low  breach  he  was  about  to 


284  ANTONINA  ;    OK,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

penetrate.  Then,  drawing  her  half- fainting  form  closer  to 
his  side,  looking  up  attentively  to  the  ramparts,  and  step- 
ping as  noiselessly  as  though  turf  were  beneath  his  feet,  he 
entered  the  dusky  rift  with  his  helpless  charge. 

As  they  disappeared  in  the  recesses  of  the  wall,  night — 
the  stormy,  the  eventful,  the  fatal — reached  its  last  limit; 
and  the  famished  sentinel  on  the  fortifications  of  the  be- 
sieged city  roused  himself  from  his  dreary  and  absorbing 
thoughts,  for  he  saw  that  the  new  day  was  dawning  in  the 
east. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  BREACH  REPASSED. 


Slowly  and  mournfully  the  sentinel  at  the  rifted  wall 
raised  his  eyes  toward  the  eastern  clouds,  as  they  brighten- 
ed before  the  advancing  dawn.  Desolate  as  was  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  dull,  misty  day-break,  it  was  yet  the  most 
welcome  of  all  the  objects  surrounding  the  starving  soldier 
on  which  he  could  fix  his  languid  gaze.  To  look  back  on 
the  city  behind  him,  was  to  look  back  on  the  dreary  charnel- 
house  of  famine  and  death  ;  to  look  down  on  the  waste 
ground  without  the  walls,  was  to  look  down  on  the  dead 
body  of  the  comrade  of  his  watch,  who,  maddened  by  the 
pangs  of  hunger  which  he  had  suffered  during  the  night, 
had  cast  himself  from  the  rampart  to  meet  a  welcome  death 
on  the  earth  beneath.  Famished  and  despairing,  the  senti- 
nel crouched  on  the  fortifications,  which  he  had  now  neither 
strength  to  pace  nor  care  to  defend;  yearning  for  the  food 
that  he  had  no  hope  to  obtain,  as  he  watched  the  gray  day- 
break from  his  solitary  post. 

While  he  was  thus  occupied,  the  gloomy  silence  of  the 
scene  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  sound  of  falling  brick- 
work at  the  inner  base  of  the  wall,  followed  by  faint  entreat- 
ies for  mercy  and  deliverance,  which  rose  on  his  ear,  strange- 
ly mingled  with  disjointed  expressions  of  defiance  and  exul- 
tation, from  a  second  voice.  He  slowly  turned  his  head,  and 
looking  down,  saw  on  the  ground  beneath,  a  young  girl 
struggling  in  the  grasp  of  an  old  man,  who  was  hurrying 
her  onward  in  the  direction  of  the  Pincian  Gate. 


antoxina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome.  285 

For  one  moment  the  girl's  eye  met  the  sentinel's  vacant 
glance,  and  she  renewed,  with  a  last  effort  of  strength  and  a 
greater  vehemence  of  supplication,  her  cries  for  help ;  but 
the  soldier  neither  moved  nor  answered.  Exhausted  as  he 
was,  no  sight  could  affect  him  now  but  the  sight  of  food. 
Like  the  rest  of  the  citizens,  he  was  sunk  in  the  heavy  stu- 
por of  starvation — selfish,  reckless,  brutalized.  Xo  disasters 
could  depress,  no  atrocities  arouse  him.  Famine  had  torn 
asunder  every  social  tie,  had  withered  every  human  sympa- 
thy, among  his  besieged  fellow-citizens,  and  he  was  famish- 
ing like  them. 

So,  as  the  girl's  entreaties  for  protection  now  grew  fainter 
and  fainter  on  his  ear,  he  made  no  effort  to  move  his  languid 
limbs;  he  watched  her  with  a  dull,  mechanical  gaze,  as  she 
was  dragged  away,  until  a  turn  in  the  pathway  at  the  foot 
of  the  Pincian  Hill  hid  her  from  sight ;  then  his  eyes  slowly 
reverted  to  the  cloudy  heaven  which  had  been  the  object 
of  their  former  contemplation,  and  his  mind  resumed  its  old 
painful,  purposeless  abstraction,  as  if  no  event  had  happened 
to  challenge  its  failing  faculties  but  the  instant  before. 

At  the  moment  when  the  dawn  had  first  appeared,  could 
he  have  looked  down  by  some  mysterious  agency  to  the  in- 
terior foundations  of  the  wall,  from  the  rampart  on  which  he 
kept  his  weary  watch,  such  a  sight  must  then  have  present- 
ed itself  as  would  have  aroused  even  his  sluggish  observa- 
tion to  rigid  attention  and  involuntary  surprise, 

"Winding  upward  and  downward  among  jagged  masses 
of  ruined  brick-work,  now  lost  amidst  the  shadows  of  dreary 
chasms,  now  prominent  over  the  elevations  of  rising  arches, 
the  dark  irregular  passages  broken  by  Ulpius  in  the  rotten 
wall  would  then  have  presented  themselves  to  his  eyes — not 
stretching  forth  in  dismal  solitude,  not  peopled  only  by  the 
reptiles  native  to  the  place,  but  traced  in  all  their  mazes  by 
human  forms.  Then  he  would  have  perceived  the  fierce, 
resolute  Pagan,  moving  through  darkness  and  obstacles  with 
a  sure,  solemn  progress,  drawing  after  him,  like  a  dog  de- 
voted to  his  will,  the  young  girl  whose  hapless  fate  had 
doomed  her  to  fall  into  his  power.  Her  half-fainting  figure 
might  have  been  seen,  sometimes  prostrate  on  the  higher 
places  of  the  breach,  while  her  fearful  guide  descended  be- 
fore her  into  a  chasm  beyond,  and  then  turned  to  drag  her 


366  ANtONiNA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

after  him  to  a  darker  and  a  lower  depth  yet  —  sometimes 
bent  in  supplication,  when  her  lips  moved  once  more  with  a 
last  despairing  entreaty,  and  her  limbs  trembled  with  a  final 
effort  to  escape  from  her  captor's  relentless  grasp.  While 
still,  through  all  that  opposed  him,  the  same  fierce  tenacity 
of  purpose  would  have  been  invariably  visible  in  every  ac- 
tion of  Ulpius,  constantly  confirming  him  in  his  mad  resolu- 
tion to  make  his  victim  the  follower  of  his  progress  through 
the  wall,  ever  guiding  him  with  a  strange  instinct  through 
every  hinderance  and  preserving  him  from  every  danger  in 
his  path,  until  it  brought  him  forth  triumphant,  with  his 
prisoner  still  in  his  power,  again  free  to  tread  the  desolated 
streets  and  mingle  with  the  famine  -  stricken  citizens  of 
Rome. 

And  now,  when  after  peril  and  anguish  she  once  more 
stood  within  the  city  of  her  home,  what  hope  remained  to 
Antonina  of  obtaining  her  last  refuge  under  her  father's 
roof,  and  deriving  her  solitary  consolation  from  the  effort  to 
regain  her  father's  love  ?  With  the  termination  of  his  pas- 
sage through  the  breach  in  the  wall,  had  ended  every  recol- 
lection associated  with  it  in  the  Pagan's  shattered  memory. 
A  new  blank  now  pervaded  his  lost  faculties,  desolate  as 
that  which  had  overwhelmed  them  in  the  night  when  he 
first  stood  in  the  farm-house  garden  by  the  young  chieftain's 
grave.  He  moved  onward,  unobservant,  unthinking,  with- 
out aim  or  hope,  driven  by  a  mysterious  restlessness,  forget- 
ting the  very  presence  of  Antonina  as  she  followed  him,  but 
still  mechanically  grasping  her  hand  and  dragging  her  after 
him  he  knew  not  whither. 

And  she,  on  her  part,  made  no  effort  more  for  deliverance. 
She  had  seen  the  sentinel  unmoved  by  her  entreaties,  she 
had  seen  the  walls  of  her  father's  house  receding  from  her 
longing  eyes,  as  Ulpius  pitilessly  hurried  her  farther  and 
farther  from  its  distant  door;  and  she  lost  the  last  faint 
hope  of  restoration,  the  last  lingering  desire  of  life,  as  the 
sense  of  her  helplessness  now  weighed  heaviest  on  her  mind. 
Her  heart  w^as  full  of  her  young  warrior  who  had  been  slain, 
and  of  her  father  from  whom  she  had  parted  in  the  hour  of 
his  wrath,  as  she  now  feebly  followed  the  Pagan's  steps,  and 
resigned  herself  to  a  speedy  exhaustion  and  death  in  her  ut- 
ter despair. 


ANTONlNA  ;  OR,  THK  FALL  OF  ROME.         28V 

They  turned  from  the  Pincian  Gate  and  gained  the  Cam- 
pus Martius ;  and  here  the  aspect  of  the  besieged  city  and 
the  condition  of  its  doomed  inhabitants  were  fully  and  fear- 
fully disclosed  to  view.  On  the  surface  of  the  noble  area, 
once  thronged  with  bustling  crowds  passing  to  and  fro  in 
every  direction,  as  their  various  destinations  or  caprices 
might  lead  them,  not  twenty  moving  figures  were  now  dis- 
cernible. These  few,  who  still  retained  their  strength. or 
the  resolution  to  pace  the  greatest  thoroughfare  of  Rome, 
stalked  backward  and  forward  incessantly,  their  hollow  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy,  their  wan  hands  pressed  over  their  mouths; 
each  separate,  distrustful,  silent ;  fierce  as  imprisoned  mad- 
men; restless  as  spectres  disturbed  in  a  place  of  tombs. 

Such  were  the  citizens  who  still  moved  over  the  Campus 
Martius;  and,  besetting  their  path  wherever  they  turned, 
lay  the  gloomy  numbers  of  the  dying  and  the  dead — the 
victims  already  stricken  by  the  pestilence  which  had  now 
arisen  in  the  infected  city,  and  joined  the  famine  in  its  work 
of  desolation  and  death.  Around  the  public  fountains, 
where  the  water  still  bubbled  up  as  freshly  as  in  the  sum- 
mer-time of  prosperity  and  peace,  the  poorer  population  of 
beleaguered  Rome  had  chiefly  congregated  to  expire.  Some 
still  retaijied  strength  enough  to  drink  greedily  at  the  mar- 
gin of  the  stone  basins,  across  which  othei's  lay  dead — their 
heads  and  shoulders  immersed  in  the  water — drowned  from 
lack  of  strength  to  draw  back  after  their  first  draught. 
Children  mounted  over  the  dead  bodies  of  their  parents  to 
raise  themselves  to  the  fountain's  brim;  parents  stared  va- 
cantly at  the  corpses  of  their  children,  alternately  floating 
and  sinking  in  the  water,  into  which  they  had  fallen  unsuc- 
cored  and  unmourned. 

In  other  parts  of  the  place,  at  the  open  gates  of  the  thea- 
tres and  hippodromes,  in  the  unguarded  porticoes  of  the  pal- 
aces and  the  baths,  lay  the  discolored  bodies  of  those  who 
had  died  ere  they  could  reach  the  fountains — of  women  and 
children  especially — surrounded,  in  frightful  contrast,  by  the 
abandoned  furniture  of  luxury  and  the  discarded  inventions 
of  vice — by  gilded  couches — by  inlaid  tables — by  jeweled 
cornices — by  obscene  pictures  and  statues — by  brilliantly 
framed,  gaudily-tinted  manuscripts  of  licentious  songs,  still 
hanging  at  their  accustomed   places   on  the   lofty  marble 


288  antontna;  or,  the  fall  of  bome. 

walls.  Farther  on,  in  the  by-streets  and  the  retired  courts, 
where  the  corpse  of  the  tradesman  was  stretched  on  his 
empty  counter ;  where  the  soldier  of  the  city  guard  dropped 
down  overpowered  ere  he  reached  the  limit  of  his  rounds ; 
where  the  wealthy  merchant  lay  pestilence  stricken  upon  the 
last  hoards  of  repulsive  food  which  his  gold  had  procured ; 
the  assassin  and  the  robber  might  be  seen — now  greedily 
devouring  the  offal  that  lay  around  them,  now  falling  dead 
upon  the  bodies  which  they  had  rifled  but  the  moment  be- 
fore. 

Over  the  whole  prospect,  far  and  near,  wherever  it  might 
extend,  whatever  the  horrors  by  which  it  miglit  be  occupied, 
was  spread  a  blank,  supernatural  stillness.  Not  a  sound 
arose ;  the  living  were  as  silent  as  the  dead ;  crime,  suffer- 
ing, despair,  were  all  voiceless  alike ;  the  trumpet  was  un- 
heard in  the  guard-house ;  the  bell  never  rang  from  the 
church — even  the  thick,  misty  rain,  that  now  descended  from 
the  black  and  unmoving  clouds,  and  obscured  in  cold  shad- 
ows the  outlines  of  distant  buildings  and  the  pinnacle-tops 
of  mighty  palaces,  fell  noiseless  to  the  ground.  The  sky  had 
no  wind,  the  earth  no  echoes ;  the  pervading  desolation  ap- 
palled the  eye;  the  vast  stillness  weighed  dull  on  the  ear:  it 
was  a  scene  as  of  the  last-left  city  of  an  exhausted  world 
decaying  noiselessly  into  primeval  chaos. 

Through  this  atmosphere  of  darkness  and  death ;  along 
these  paths  of  pestilence  and  famine ;  unregarding  and  un- 
regarded, the  Pagan  and  his  prisoner  passed  slowly  onward 
toward  the  quarter  of  the  city  opposite  the  Pincian  Mount. 
No  ray  of  thought,  even  yet,  brightened  the  dull  faculties  of 
Ulpius ;  still  he  walked  forward  vacantly,  and  still  he  was 
followed  wearily  by  the  fast-failing  girl. 

Sunk  in  her  mingled  stupor  of  bodily  weakness  and  men- 
tal despair,  she  never  spoke,  never  raised  her  head,  never 
looked  forth  on  the  one  side  or  the  other.  She  had  now 
ceased  even  to  feel  the  strong,  cold  grasp  of  the  Pagan's 
hand.  Shadowy  visions  of  spheres  beyond  the  world,  array- 
ed in  enchanting  beauty,  and  peopled  with  happy  spirits  in 
their  old  earthly  forms;  where  a  long  deathless  existence 
moved  smoothly  and  dreamily  onward,  without  mark  of 
time  or  taint  of  woe,  were  opening  before  her  mind.  She 
lost  all  memory  of  afflictions  and  wrongs,  all  apprehension 


AJiTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  28§ 

of  danger  from  the  madman  at  whose  mercy  she  remained. 
And  thus  she  still  moved  feebly  onward  as  the  will  of  Ul- 
pius  guided  her,  with  no  observation  of  her  present  peril  and 
no  anxiety  for  her  impending  fate. 

They  passed  the  grand  circular  structure  of  the  Pantheon,- 
entered  the  long  narrow  streets  leading  to  the  banks  of  the 
river,  and  finally  gained  the  margin  of  the  Tiber  hard  by 
the  little  island  that  still  rises  in  the  midst  of  its  waters. 
Here,  for  the  first  time,  the  Pagan  paused  mechanically  in 
his  course,  and  vacantly  directed  his  dull,  dreamy  eyes  on 
the  prospect  before  him,  where  the  walls,  stretcliing  abrupt- 
ly outward  from  their  ordinary  direction,  inclosed  the  Janic- 
ulum  Hill,  as  it  rose  with  its  irregular  mass  of  buildings  on 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  river. 

At  this  sudden  change  from  action  to  repose,  the  over- 
tasked energies  which  had  hitherto  gifted  the  limbs  of  An- 
tonina  with  an  unnatural  power  of  endurance  abruptly  re- 
laxed. She  sank  down  helpless  and  silent;  her  head  droop- 
ed toward  the  hard  ground,  as  toward  a  welcome  pillow,  but 
found  no  support ;  for  the  Pagan's  iron  grasp  of  her  hand 
remained  unyielding  as  ever.  Infirm  though  he  was,  he  ap- 
peared at  this  moment  to  be  unconscious  that  his  prisoner 
was  now  hanging  at  his  side.  Every  association  connected 
with  her,  every  recollection  of  his  position  with  her  in  her 
father's  house,  had  vanished  from  his  memory.  A  darker 
blindness  seemed  to  have  sunk  over  his  bodily  perceptions; 
his  eyes  rolled  slowly  to  and  fro  over  the  prospect  before 
him,  but  regarded  nothing;  his  panting  breaths  came  thick 
and  fast;  his  shrunk  chest  heaved  as  if  some  deep,  dread  ag- 
ony were  pent  within  it — it  was  evident  that  a  new  crisis  in 
his  insanity  was  at  hand. 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  bands  of  marauders — the  des- 
perate criminals  of  famine  and  plague — who  still  prowled 
through  the  city  appeared  in  the  street.  Their  trembling 
hands  sought  their  weapons,  and  their  haggard  faces  bright- 
ened when  they  first  discerned  the  Pagan  and  the  girl;  but 
as  they  approached  nearer  they  saw  enough  in  the  figures 
of  the  two,  at  a  glance,  to  destroy  their  hopes  of  seizing  on 
them  either  plunder  or  food.  For  an  instant  they  stood  by 
their  intended  victims,  as  if  debating  whether  to  murder 
them  only  for  murder's  sake,  when  the  appearance  of  two 

13 


290  ANTOlflNA;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   HOME. 

women,  stealthily  quitting  a  house  farther  on  in  the  street, 
carrying  a  basket  covered  by  some  tattered  garments,  at- 
tracted their  attention.  They  turned  instantly  to  follow 
the  bearers  of  the  basket,  and  again  Ulpius  and  Antonina 
were  left  alone  on  the  river's  bank. 

The  appearance  of  the  assassins  had  been  powerless,  as  ev- 
ery other  sight  or  event  in  the  city,  in  arousing  the  faculties 
of  Ulpius.  He  had  neither  looked  on  them  nor  fled  from 
them  when  they  surrounded  him ;  but  now  when  they  were 
gone,  he  slowly  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  by  which 
they  had  departed.  His  gaze  wandered  over  the  wet  flag- 
stones of  the  street,  over  two  corpses  stretched  on  them  at  a 
little  distance,  over  the  figure  of  a  female  slave,  who  lay  for- 
saken near  the  wall  of  one  of  the  houses,  exerting  her  last 
energies  to  drink  from  the  turbid  rain-water  which  ran  down 
the  kennel  by  her  side;  and  still  his  eyes  remained  unre- 
gardful  of  all  that  they  encountered.  The  next  object  which 
b}'^  chance  attracted  his  vacant  attention,  was  a  deserted 
temple.  This  solitary  building  fixed  him  immediately  in 
contemplation — it  was  destined  to  open  a  new  and  a  warn- 
ing scene  in  the  dark  tragedy  of  his  closing  life. 

In  his  course  through  the  city  he  had  passed  unheeded 
many  temples  far  more  prominent  in  situation,  far  more  im- 
posing in  structure,  than  this.  It  was  a  building  of  no  re- 
markable extent  or  extraordinary  beauty.  Its  narrow  por- 
ticoes and  dark  door- way  were  more  fitted  to  repel  than  to 
invite  the  eye;  but  it  had  one  attraction,  powerful  above  all 
glories  of  architecture  and  all  grandeur  of  situation,  to  arrest 
in  him  those  wandering  faculties,  whose  sterner  and  loftier 
aims  were  now  suspended  forever:  it  was  dedicated  to  Se- 
rapis — to  the  idol  which  had  been  the  deity  of  his  first  wor- 
ship, and  the  inspiration  of  his  last  struggle  for  the  resto- 
ration of  his  faith.  The  image  of  the  god,  with  the  three- 
headed  monster  encircled  by  a  serpent,  obedient  beneath  his 
hand,  was  carved  over  the  portico. 

What  flood  of  emotions  rushed  into  the  vacant  mind  of 
Ulpius,  at  the  instant  when  he  discerned  the  long-loved,  well- 
known  image  of  the  Egyptian  god,  there  was  nothing,  for 
some  moments,  outwardly  visible  in  him  to  betray.  His 
moral  insensibility  appeared  but  to  be  deepened  as  his  gaze 
was  now  fixed  with  rigid  intensity  on  the  temple  portico. 


ANTONTNA ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  291 

Thus  he  continued  to  remain  motionless,  as  if  what  he  saw 
had  petritied  him  where  he  stood,  when  the  clouds,  which 
had  been  closing  in  deeper  and  deeper  blackness  as  the 
morning  advanced,  and  which,  still  charged  with  electricity, 
wei'e  gathering  to  revive  the  storm  of  the  past  night,  burst 
abruptly  into  a  loud  peal  of  thunder  over  his  head. 

At  that  warning  sound,  as  if  it  had  been  the  supernatural 
signal  awaited  to  arouse  him — as  if  in  one  brief  moment  it 
awakened  every  recollection  of  all  that  he  had  resolutely  at- 
tempted during  the  night  of  thunder  that  was  past — he  start- 
ed into  instant  animation.  His  countenance  brightened,  his 
form  expanded  ;  he  dropped  the  hand  of  Antouina,  raised  his 
arm  aloft  toward  the  wrathful  heaven  in  frantic  triumph, 
then,  staggering  forward,  fell  on  his  knees  at  the  base  of  the 
temple  steps. 

Whatever  the  remembrances  of  his  passage  through  the 
wall  at  the  Pincian  Hill,  and  of  the  toil  and  peril  succeeding 
it,  which  had  revived  when  the  thunder  first  sounded  in  his 
ear,  they  had  now  vanished  as  rapidly  as  they  had  arisen, 
and  had  left  his  wandering  memory  free  to  revert  to  the 
scenes  which  the  image  of  Serapis  was  most  fitted  to  recall. 
Recollections  of  his  boyish  enjoyments  in  the  Temple  at 
Alexandria,  of  his  youth's  enthusiasm,  of  the  triumphs  of  his 
early  manhood — all  disjointed  and  wayward,  yet  all  bright, 
glorious,  intoxicating  —  flashed  before  his  shattered  mind. 
Tears,  the  first  that  he  had  shed  since  his  happy  youth,  flow- 
ed quick  down  his  withered  cheeks.  He  pressed  his  hot 
forehead,  he  beat  his  parched  hand  in  ecstasy  on  the  cold, 
wet  steps  beneath  him.  He  muttered  breathless  ejaculations, 
he  breathed  strange  murmurs  of  endearment,  he  humbled 
himself  in  his  rapturous  delight  beneath  the  walls  of  the 
temple,  like  a  dog  that  has  discovered  his  lost  master  and 
fawns  affectionately  at  his  feet.  Criminal  as  he  was,  his  joy 
in  his  abasement,  his  glory  in  his  miserable  isolation  from 
humanity,  was  a  doom  of  degradation  pitiable  to  be  beheld. 

After  an  interval  his  mood  changed.  He  rose  to  his  feet; 
his  trembling  limbs  strengthened  with  a  youthful  vigor,  as 
he  ascended  the  temple  steps  and  gained  its  door-way.  He 
turned  for  a  moment,  and  looked  forth  over  the  street,  ere 
he  entered  the  hallowed  domain  of  his  distempered  imagina- 
tion.   To  him  the  cloudy  sky  above  was  now  shining  with  the 


292         ANTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  ROME. 

radiance  of  the  sun-bright  East.  The  death-laden  highways 
of  Rome,  as  they  stretched  before  liini,  were  beautiful  with 
lofty  trees  and  populous  with  happy  figures;  and  along  the 
dark  flag-stones  beneath,  where  still  laj'  the  corpses  which 
he  had  no  eye  to  see,  he  beheld  already  the  priests  of  Se- 
rapis,  with  his  revered  guardian,  his  beloved  Macrinus  of  for- 
mer days,  at  their  head,  advancing  to  meet  and  welcome  him 
in  the  hall  of  the  Egyptian  god.  Visions  such  as  these  pass- 
ed gloriously  before  the  Pagan's  eyes,  as  he  stood  triumph- 
ant on  the  steps  of  the  temple,  and  brightened  to  him  with  a 
noonday  light  its  dusky  recesses,  when,  after  his  brief  delay, 
he  turned  from  the  street  and  disappeared  through  the  door- 
way of  the  sacred  place. 

The  rain  poured  down  more  thickly  than  before;  the 
thunder,  once  aroused,  now  sounded  in  deep  and  frequent 
peals,  as  Antonina  raised  herself  from  the  ground,  and  look- 
ed around  her,  in  momentary  expectation  that  the  dieaded 
form  of  Ulpius  must  meet  her  eyes.  No  living  creature  was 
visible  in  the  street.  The  forsaken  slave  still  reclined  near 
the  wall  of  the  house  where  she  had  first  appeared  when  the 
Pagan  gained  the  approaches  to  the  temple;  but  she  now 
lay  there  dead.  No  fresh  bands  of  robbers  appeared  in 
sight.  An  uninterrupted  solitude  prevailed  in  all  directions, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

At  the  moment  when  Ulpius  had  relinquished  his  grasp 
of  her  hand,  Antonina  had  sunk  to  the  ground,  helpless  and 
resigned,  but  not  exhausted  beyond  all  power  of  sensation 
or  all  capacity  for  thought.  While  she  lay  on  the  cold 
pavement  of  the  street,  her  mind  still  pursued  its  visions  of 
a  speedy  death,  and  a  tranquil  life  in  death  to  succeed  it  in  a 
future  state.  But,  as  minute  after  minute  elapsed,  and  no 
harsh  voice  sounded  in  her  ear,  no  pitiless  hand  dragged  her 
from  the  ground,  no  ominous  footsteps  were  audible  around 
her,  a  change  passed  gradually  over  her  thoughts ;  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation  slowly  revived  within  her;  and, 
as  she  raised  herself  to  Ipok  forth  on  the  gloomy  prospect, 
the  chances  of  uninterrupted  flight  and  present  safety  pre- 
sented by  the  solitude  of  the  street,  aroused  her  like  a  voice 
of  encouragement,  like  an  unexpected  promise  of  help. 

Her  perception  of  outer  influences  returned :  she  felt  the 
rain  that  drenched  her  garments,  she  shuddered  at  the  thun- 


ANTONINA;    or,  the   fall   of   ROME.  293 

(ler  sounding  over  her  head,  she  marked  with  horror  the 
dead  bodies  lying  before  her  on  the  stones.  An  overpower- 
ing desire  animated  her  to  fly  from  the  place,  to  escape 
from  the  desolate  scene  around,  even  though  she  should  sink 
exliausted  by  the  effort  in  the  next  street.  Slowly  she  arose ; 
her  limbs  trembled  with  a  premature  infirmity,  but  she  gain- 
ed her  feet.  She  tottered  onward,  turning  her  back  on  the 
river,  passed  bewildered  between  long  rows  of  deserted 
houses,  and  arrived  opposite  a  public  garden,  surrounding  a 
little  summer-house,  whose  deserted  portico  offered  both 
concealment  and  shelter.  Here,  therefore,  she  took  refuge, 
crouching  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  building,  and  hiding 
her  face  in  her  hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  all  view  of  the  dreary 
though  altered  scenes  which  spread  before  her  eyes. 

Woeful  thoughts  and  recollections  now  moved  within  her 
in  bewildering  confusion.  All  that  she  had  suffered  since 
Ulpius  had  dragged  her  from  the  farm-house  in  the  suburbs 
— the  night  pilgrimage  over  the  plain — the  fearful  passage 
through  the  wall — revived  in  her  memory,  mingled  with 
vague  ideas,  now  for  the  first  time  aroused,  of  the  plague 
and  famine  that  were  desolating  the  city,  and  with  sudden 
apprehensions  that  Goisvintha  might  still  be  following  her, 
knife  in  hand,  through  the  lonely  streets ;  while  passively 
prominent  over  all  these  varying  sources  of  anguish  and 
dread,  the  scene  of  the  young  chieftain's  death  lay  like  a 
cold  weight  on  her  heavy  heart.  The  damp  turf  of  his  grave 
seemed  still  to  press  against  her  breast;  his  last  kiss  yet 
trembled  on  her  lips ;  she  knew,  though  she  dared  not  look 
down  on  them,  that  the  spots  of  his  blood  yet  stained  her 
garments. 

Whether  she  strove  to  rise  and  continue  her  flight; 
whether  she  crouched  down  again  under  the  portico,  resign- 
ed for  one  bitter  moment  to  perish  by  the  knife  of  Goisvin- 
tha, if  Goisvintha  were  near;  to  fall  once  more  into  the 
hands  of  Ulpius,  if  Ulpius  were  tracking  her  to  her  retreat; 
the  crushing  sense  that  she  was  utterly  bereaved  of  her  be- 
loved protector — that  the  friend  of  her  brief  days  of  happi- 
ness was  lost  to  her  forever — that  Herman ric,  who  had  pre- 
served her  from  death,  had  been  murdered  in  his  youth  and 
his  strength  by  her  side,  never  deserted  her.  Since  the  as- 
sassination in  the  farm-house,  she  was  now  for  the  first  time 


294       antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  some. 

alone ;  and  now  for  the  first  time  she  felt  the  full  severity  of 
her  affliction,  and  knew  how  dark  was  the  blank  which  was 
spread  before  every  aspiration  of  her  future  life. 

Enduring,  almost  eternal  as  the  burden  of  her  desolation 
seemed  now  to  have  become,  it  was  yet  to  be  removed,  ere 
long,  by  feelings  of  a  tenderer  mournfuliiess,  and  a  more  re- 
signed woe.  The  innate  and  innocent  fortitude  of  dispo- 
sition which  had  made  her  patient  under  the  rigor  of  her 
youthful  education,  and  hopeful  under  the  trials  that  assail- 
ed her  on  her  banishment  from  her  father's  house — which 
had  never  deserted  her  until  the  awful  scenes  of  the  past 
night  of  assassination  and  death  rose  in  triumphant  horror 
before  her  eyes,  and  which,  even  then,  had  been  suspended 
but  not  destroyed,  was  now  destined  to  regain  its  healing 
influence  over  her  heart.  As  she  still  cowered  in  her  lonely 
refuge,  the  final  hope,  the  yearning  dependence  on  a  resto- 
ration to  her  father's  presence  and  her  father's  love,  that 
had  moved  her  over  the  young  chieftain's  grave,  and  had 
prompted  her  last  effort  for  freedom  when  Ulpius  had  dragged 
her  through  the  passage  in  the  rifted  wall,  suddenly  revived. 

Once  more  she  arose,  and  looked  forth  on  the  desolate  city 
and  the  stormy  sky,  but  now  with  mild  and  unshrinking 
eyes.  Her  recollections  of  the  past  grew  tender  in  their 
youthful  grief;  her  thoughts  for  the  future  became  patient, 
solemn,  and  serene.  Images  of  her  first  and  her  last-left  pro- 
tector, of  her  old  familiar  home,  of  her  garden  solitude  on 
the  Pincian  Mount,  spread  beautiful  before  her  imagination, 
as  resting-places  to  her  weary  heart.  She  descended  the 
steps  of  the  summer-house  with  no  apprehension  of  her  ene- 
mies, no  doubt  of  her  resolution  ;  for  she  knew  the  beacon 
that  was  now  to  direct  her  onward  course.  The  tears  gath- 
ered full  in  her  eyes,  as  she  passed  into  the  garden ;  but  her 
step  never  faltered,  her  features  never  lost  their  combined 
expression  of  tranquil  sorrow  and  subdued  hope.  So  she 
once  more  entered  the  perilous  streets;  and  murmuring  to 
herself,  "My  father!  my  father !"  as  if  in  those  simple  words 
lay  the  hand  that  was  to  guide  and  the  providence  that  was 
to  preserve  her,  she  began  to  trace  her  solitary  way  in  the 
direction  of  the  Pincian  Mount. 

It  was  a  spectacle — touching,  beautiful,  even  sublime — to 
see  this  young  girl,  but  a  few  hours  freed,  by  perilous  paths 


ANTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROMK.  295 

and  by  criminal  hands,  from  scenes  which  had  begun  in 
treachery,  only  to  end  in  death,,now  passing,  resolute  and 
alone,  through  the  streets  of  a  mighty  city,  overwhelmed  by 
all  that  is  poignant  in  human  anguish  and  hideous  in  human 
crime.  It  was  a  noble  evidence  of  the  strong  power  over 
the  world  and  the  world's  perils,  with  which  the  simplest 
affection  may  arm  the  frailest  being,  to  behold  her  thus  pur- 
suing her  way,  superior  to  every  horror  of  desolation  and 
death  that  clogged  her  path,  unconsciously  discovering  in 
the  softly-murmured  name  of  "father,"  which  still  fell  at  in- 
tervals from  her  lips,  the  pure  purpose  that  sustained  her — 
the  steady  heroism  that  ever  held  her  in  her  doubtful  course. 
The  storms  of  heaven  poured  over  her  head — the  crimes  and 
sufferings  of  Rome  darkened  the  paths  of  her  pilgrimage ; 
but  she  passed  firmly  onward  through  all,  like  a  ministering 
spirit  journeying  along  earthly  shores  in  the  bright  inviola- 
bility of  its  merciful  mission  and  its  holy  thoughts — like  a 
ray  of  light  living  in  the  strength  of  its  own  beauty,  amidst 
the  tempest  and  obscurity  of  a  stranger  sphere. 

Once  more  she  entered  the  Campus  Martius.  Again  she 
passed  the  public  fountains,  still  unnaturally  devoted  to 
serve  as  beds  for  the  dying  and  as  sepulchres  for  the  dead ; 
again  she  trod  the  dreary  highways,  where  the  stronger 
among  the  famished  populace  yet  paced  hither  and  thither 
in  ferocious  silence  and  unsocial  separation.  No  word  was 
addressed,  hardly  a  look  was  directed  to  her,  as  she  pursued 
her  solitary  course.  She  was  desolate  among  the  desolate ; 
forsaken  among  others  abandoned  like  herself. 

The  robber,  when  he  passed  her  by,  saw  that  she  was 
worthless  for  the  interests  of  plunder  as  the  poorest  of  the 
dying  citizens  around  him.  The  patrician,  loitering  feebly 
onward  to  the  shelter  of  his  palace  halls,  avoided  her  as  a 
new  suppliant  among  the  people  for  the  charity  which  he 
had  not  to  bestow,  and  quickened  his  pace  as  she  approach- 
ed him  in  the  street.  Unprotected,  yet  unmolested,  hurry- 
ing from  her  loneliness  and  her  bitter  recollections  to  the 
refuge  of  her  father's  love,  as  she  would  have  hurried  when 
a  child  from  her  first  apprehension  of  ill  to  the  refuge  of  her 
father's  arms,  she  gained  at  length  the  foot  of  the  Pincian 
Hill — at  length  ascended  the  streets  so  often  trodden  in  the 
tranquil  days  of  old  ! 


296         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  KOME. 

The  portals  and  outer  buildings  of  Vetranio's  palace,  as 
she  passed  them,  presented  a  striking  and  ominous  spectacle. 
Within  the  lofty  steel  railings  which  protected  the  building, 
the  famine-wasted  slaves  of  the  senator  appeared  reeling  and 
tottering  beneath  full  vases  of  wine,  which  they  were  feebly 
endeavoring  to  carry  into  the  interior  apartments.  Gaudy 
hangings  drooped  from  the  balconies,  garlands  of  ivy  were 
wreathed  round  the  statues  of  the  marble  front.  In  the 
midst  of  the  besieged  city,  and  in  impious  mockery  of  the 
famine  and  pestilence  which  were  wasting  it — hut  and  pal- 
ace— to  its  remotest  confines,  were  proceeding  in  this  de- 
voted dwelling  the  preparations  for  a  triumphant  feast ! 

TJnheedful  of  the  startling  prospect  presented  by  Vetra- 
nio's abode,  her  eyes  bent  but  in  one  absorbing  direction,  her 
steps  hurrying  faster  and  faster  with  each  succeeding  in- 
stant, Antonina  approached  the  home  from  which  she  had 
been  exiled  in  fear,  and  to  which  she  was  returning  in  woe. 
Yet  a  moment  more  of  strong  exertion,  of  overpowering  an- 
ticipation, and  she  reached  the  garden  gate  ! 

She  dashed  back  the  heavy  hair,  matted  over  her  brows 
by  the  rain;  she  glanced  rapidly  around  her;  she  beheld 
the  window  of  her  bed-chamber  with  the  old  simple  cur- 
tain still  hanging  in  its  accustomed  place ;  she  saw  the  well- 
remembered  trees,  the  carefully -tended  flower-beds,  now 
drooping  mournfully  beneath  the  gloomy  sky.  Her  heart 
swelled  within  her,  her  breath  seemed  suddenly  arrested  in 
her  bosom,  as  she  trod  the  garden  j^ath  and  ascended  the 
steps  beyond.  The  door  at  the  top  was  ajar.  With  a  last 
effort  she  thrust  it  open,  and  stood  once  more — unaided  and 
unwelcomed,  yet  hopeful  of  consolation,  of  pardon,  of  love — 
within  her  first  and  last  sanctuary,  the  walls  of  her  home  I 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

FATHER    AND    CHILD, 


Forsaken  as  it  appears  on  an  outward  view,  during  the 
morning  of  which  we  now  write,  the  house  of  Numerian  is 
yet  not  tenantless.  In  one  of  the  sleeping  apartments, 
stretched  on  his  couch,  with  none  to  watch  by  its  side,  lies 


ANTONINA;  or,  the  fall  op  ROME.         297 

the  master  of  the  little  dwelling.  TTe  last  beheld  him  on 
the  scene  mingled  M'ith  the  famishing  congregation  in  the 
Basilica  of  St.  John  Lateran,  still  searching  for  his  child 
amidst  the  confusion  of  the  public  distribution  of  food  dur- 
ing the  earlier  stages  of  the  misfortunes  of  besieged  Rome. 
Since  that  time  he  has  toiled  and  suifered  much ;  and  now 
the  day  of  exhaustion  long  deferred,  the  hours  of  helpless 
solitude  constantly  dreaded,  have  at  length  arrived. 

From  the  first  periods  of  the  siege,  while  all  around  him 
in  the  city  moved  gloomily  onward  through  darker  and 
darker  changes ;  while  famine  rapidly  merged  into  pesti- 
lence and  death;  while  human  hopes  and  purposes  gradual- 
ly diminished  and  declined  with  each  succeeding  day,  he 
alone  remained  ever  devoted  to  the  same  labor,  ever  ani- 
mated by 'the  same  object — the  only  one  among  all  his  fel- 
low-citizens whom  no  outward  event  could  influence  for 
good  or  evil,  for  hope  or  fear. 

In  every  street  of  Rome,  at  all  hours,  among  all  ranks  of 
people,  he  was  still  to  be  seen  constantly  pursuing  the  same 
hopeless  search.  When  the  mob  burst  furiously  into  the 
public  granaries  to  seize  the  last  supplies  of  corn  hoarded 
for  the  rich,  he  was  ready  at  the  doors  watching  them  as 
they  came  out.  "When  rows  of  houses  were  deserted  by  all 
but  the  dead,  he  was  beheld  within,  passing  from  window 
to  window,  as  he  sought  through  each  room  for  the  treasure 
that  he  had  lost.  When  some  few  among  the  populace,  in 
the  first  days  of  the  pestilence,  united  in  the  vain  attempt 
to  cast  over  the  lofty  walls  the  corpses  that  strewed  the 
street,  he  mingled  with  them  to  look  on  the  rigid  faces  of 
the  dead.  In  solitary  places,  where  the  parent  not  yet  lost 
to  affection  strove  to  carry  his  dying  child  from  the  desert 
roadway  to  the  shelter  of  a  roof — where  the  wife,  still  faith- 
ful to  her  duties,  received  her  husband's  last  breath  in  si- 
lent despair,  he  was  seen  gliding  by  their  sides,  and  for  one 
brief  instant  looking  on  them  with  attentive  and  mournful 
eyes.  Wherever  he  went,  whatever  he  beheld,  he  asked  no 
sympathy  and  sought  no  aid.  He  went  his  w^ay,  a  pilgrim 
on  a  solitary  path;  an  unregarded  expectant  for  a  boon 
that  no  others  could  care  to  partake. 

When  the  famine  first  began  to  be  felt  in  the  city,  he 
seemed  unconscious  of  its  approach — he  made  no  effort  to 

13* 


298         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

procure  beforehand  the  provision  of  a  few  days'  sustenance ; 
if  he  attended  the  first  public  distributions  of  food,  it  was  to 
prosecute  his  search  for  his  child  amidst  the  throng  around 
him.  He  must  have  perished  with  the  first  feeble  victims 
of  starvation,  had  he  not  been  met,  during  his  solitary  wan- 
derings, by  some  of  the  members  of  the  congregation  whom 
his  piety  and  eloquence  had  collected  in  former  days. 

By  these  persons,  whose  entreaties  that  he  would  suspend 
his  hopeless  search  he  always  answered  with  the  same  firm 
and  patient  denial,  his  course  was  carefully  watched  and  his 
wants  anxiously  provided  for.  Out  of  every  supply  of  food 
which  they  were  enabled  to  collect,  his  share  was  invaria- 
bly carried  to  his  abode.  They  remembered  their  teacher 
in  the  hour  of  his  dejection,  as  they  had  formerly  reverenced 
him  in  the  day  of  his  vigor;  they  toiled  to  preserve  his  life 
as  anxiously  as  they  had  labored  to  profit  by  his  instruc- 
tions; they  listened  as  his  disciples  once,  they  served  him 
as  his  children  now. 

But  over  these,  as  over  all  other  oflices  of  human  kind- 
ness, the  famine  was  destined  gradually  and  surely  to  pre- 
vail. The  provision  of  food  garnered  up  by  the  congrega- 
tion ominously  lessened  with  each  succeeding  day.  When 
the  pestilence  began  darkly  to  appear,  the  numbers  of  those 
who  sought  their  afllicted  teacher  at  his  abode,  or  followed 
him  through  the  dreary  streets,  fatally  decreased. 

Then,  as  the  nourishment  which  had  supported  and  the 
vigilance  which  had  watched  him  thus  diminished,  so  did 
the  hard-tasked  energies  of  the  unhappy  father  fail  him  fast- 
er and  faster.  Each  morning  as  he  arose,  his  steps  were 
more  feeble,  his  heart  grew  heavier  within  him,  his  wander- 
ings through  the  city  were  less  and  less  resolute  and  pro- 
longed. At  length  his  powers  totally  deserted  him;  the 
last -left  members  of  his  congregation,  as  they  approached 
his  abode  with  the  last  -  left  provision  of  food  which  they 
possessed,  found  him  prostrate  with  exhaustion  at  his  gar- 
den gate.  They  bore  him  to  his  couch,  placed  their  charita- 
ble offering  by  his  side,  and  leaving  one  of  their  numbers  to 
protect  hini  from  the  robber  and  the  assassin,  they  quitted 
the  house  in  despair. 

For  some  days  the  guardian  remained  faithful  to  his  post, 
until  his  sufferings  from  lack  of  food  overpowered  his  vigi* 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  299 

lance.  Dreading  that,  in  his  extremity,  he  might  be  tempt- 
ed to  take  from  the  old  man's  small  store  of  provision  what 
little  remained,  he  fled  from  the  house,  to  seek  sustenance, 
however  loathsome,  in  the  public  streets ;  and  thenceforth 
Numerian  was  left  defenseless  in  his  solitary  abode. 

He  Avas  first  beheld  on  the  scenes  which  these  pages  pre- 
sent a  man  of  austere  purpose,  of  unwearied  energy;  a  val- 
iant reformer  who  defied  all  difficulties  that  beset  him  in  his 
progress;  a  triumphant  teacher  leading  at  his  will  whoever 
listened  to  his  words;  a  father  proudly  contemplating  the 
future  position  which  he  destined  for  his  child.  Far  differ- 
ent did  he  now  appear.  Lost  to  his  ambition,  broken  in 
spirit,  helpless  in  body,  separated  from  his  daughter  by  his 
own  act,  he  lay  on  his  untended  couch  in  a  death-like  leth- 
argy. The  cold  wind  blowing  through  his  opened  window 
awakened  no  sensations  in  his  torpid  frame;  the  cup  of  wa- 
ter and  the  small  relics  of  coarse  food  stood  near  his  hand, 
but  he  had  no  vigilance  to  discern  them.  His  open  eyes 
looked  steadf^istly  upward,  and  yet  he  reposed  as  one  in  a 
deep  sleep,  or  as  one  already  devoted  to  the  tomb,  save 
when,  at  intervals,  his  lips  moved  slowly  with  a  long  and 
painfully -drawn  breath,  or  a  fever- flush  tinged  his  hollow 
cheek  with  changing  and  momentary  hues. 

While  thus  in  outward  aspect  appearing  to  linger  be- 
tween life  and  death,  his  faculties  yet  remained  feebly  vital 
within  him.  Aroused  by  no  external  influence,  and  govern- 
ed by  no  mental  restraint,  they  now  created  before  him  a 
strange  waking  vision,  palpable  as  an  actual  event. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  reposing,  not  in  his  own 
chamber,  but  in  some  mysterious  world,  filled  with  a  twi- 
light atmosphere,  inexpressibly  soothing  and  gentle  to  his 
aching  sight.  Through  this  mild  radiance  he  could  trace, 
at  long  intervals,  shadowy  representations  of  the  scenes 
through  which  he  had  passed  in  search  of  his  lost  child. 
The  gloomy  streets,  the  lonely  houses  abandoned  to  the  un- 
buried  dead,  which  he  had  explored,  alternately  appeared 
and  vanished  before  him  in  solemn  succession ;  and  ever 
and  anon,  as  one  vision  disappeared  ere  another  rose,  he 
heard  afar  oflT  a  sound  as  of  gentle,  womanly  voices,  mur- 
muring in  solemn  accents,  "The  search  has  been  made  in 
penitence,  in  patience,  in  prayer,  and  has  not  been  pursued 


300         AXTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

in  vain.  The  lost  shall  return  —  the  beloved  shall  yet  be 
restored !" 

Thus,  as  it  had  begun,  the  vision  long  continued.  Now 
the  scenes  through  which  he  had  wandered  passed  slowly 
before  his  eyes,  now  the  soft  voices  murmured  pityingly  in 
his  ear.  At  length  the  first  disappeared,  and  the  last  be- 
came silent;  then  ensued  a  long  vacant  interval,  and  then 
the  gray,  tranquil  light  brightened  slowly  at  one  spot,  out 
of  which  he  beheld  advancing  toward  him  the  form  of  his 
lost  child. 

She  came  to  his  side,  she  bent  lovingly  over  him ;  he  saw 
her  eyes,  with  their  old  patient,  childlike  expression,  looking 
sori'owfully  down  upon  him.  His  heart  revived  to  a  sense 
of  unspeakable  awe  and  contrition,  to  emotions  of  yearning 
love  and  mournful  hope ;  his  speech  returned ;  he  whispered 
tremulously,  "  Child !  child !  I  repented  in  bitter  woe  the 
wrong  that  I  did  to  thee ;  I  sought  thee,  in  my  loneliness 
on  earth, through  the  long  day  and  the  gloomy  night!  And 
now  the  merciful  God  has  sent  thee  to  pardon  me !  I  loved 
thee ;  I  wept  for  thee." 

His  voice  died  within  him,  for  now  his  outward  sensations 
quickened.  He  felt  warm  tears  falling  on  his  cheeks ;  he  felt 
embracing  arms  clasped  around  him ;  he  heard  tenderly  re- 
peated, "  Father,  speak  to  me  as  you  were  wont ;  love  me, 
father,  and  forgive  me,  as  you  loved  and  forgave  me  when  I 
was  a  little  child  !" 

The  sound  of  that  well-remembered  voice  —  which  had 
ever  spoken  kindly  and  reverently  to  him ;  which  had  last 
addressed  him  in  tones  of  despairing  supplication  ;  which  he 
had  hardly  hoped  to  hear  again  on  earth  —  penetrated  his 
whole  being,  like  awakening  music  in  the  dead  silence  of 
night.  His  eyes  lost  their  vacant  expression ;  he  raised 
himself  suddenly  on  the  couch  ;  he  saw  that  what  had  be- 
gun as  a  vision  had  ended  as  a  reality ;  that  his  dream  had 
proved  the  immediate  forerunner  of  its  own  fulfillment; 
that  his  daughter  in  her  bodily  presence  was  indeed  re- 
stored ;  and  his  head  drooped  forward,  and  he  trembled  and 
wept  upon  her  bosom,  in  the  overpowering  fullness  of  his 
gratitude  and  delight. 

For  some  moments  Antonina,  calming  with  the  resolute 
heroism  of  affection  her  own  thronging  emotions  of  awe  and 


ANTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  301 

affright,  endeavored  to  soothe  and  support  her  fast-failing 
parent.  Her  horror  almost  ovei'whehned  her,  as  she  thought 
that  now,  when  through  grief  and  peril  she  was  at  last  re- 
stored to  him,  he  might  expire  in  her  arms;  but  even  yet 
her  resolution  did  not  fail  her.  The  last  hope  of  her  brief 
and  bitter  life  was  now  the  hope  of  reviving  her  father;  and 
she  clung  to  it  with  the  tenacity  of  despair. 

She  calmed  her  voice  while  she  spoke  to  him ;  she  entreat- 
ed him  to  remember  that  his  daughter  had  returned  to  watch 
over  him,  to  be  his  obedient  pupil  as  in  days  of  old.  Vain 
effort !  Even  while  the  words  passed  her  lips,  his  arms, 
which  had  been  pressed  over  her,  relaxed  ;  his  head  grew 
heavier  on  her  bosom.  In  the  despair  of  the  moment,  she 
tore  herself  from  him,  and  looked  around  to  seek  the  help 
that  none  were  near  to  afford.  The  cup  of  water,  the  last 
provision  of  food,  attracted  her  eye.  With  quick  instinct 
she  caught  them  up.  Hope,  success,  salvation,  lay  in  those 
miserable  relics.  She  pressed  the  food  into  his  mouth ;  she 
moistened  his  parched  lips,  his  dry  brow,  with  the  water. 
During  one  moment  of  horrible  suspense  she  saw  him  still 
insensible;  then  the  vital  functions  revived;  his  eyes  open- 
ed again,  and  fixed  famine-struck  on  the  wretched  nourish- 
ment before  him.  He  devoured  it  ravenously ;  he  drained 
the  cup  of  water  to  its  last  drop;  he  sank  back  again  on  the 
couch.  But  now  the  torpid  blood  moved  once  more  in  his 
veins ;  his  heart  beat  less  and  less  feebh'^ :  he  was  saved. 
She  saw  it  as  she  bent  over  him — saved  by  the  lost  child  in 
the  hour  of  her  return  !  It  was  a  sensation  of  ecstatic  tri- 
umph and  gratitude,  which  no  woeful  remembrances  had 
power  to  embitter  in  its  bright,  sudden  birth  !  She  knelt 
down  by  the  side  of  the  couch,  almost  crushed  by  her  own 
emotions.  Over  the  grave  of  the  young  warrior  she  had 
raised  her  heart  to  Heaven  in  agony  and  grief,  and  now  by 
her  father's  side  she  poured  forth  her  whole  soul  to  her  Cre- 
ator in  trembling  ejaculations  of  thankfulness  and  hope  ! 

Thus — the  one  slowly  recovering  whatever  of  life  and  vig- 
or yet  continued  in  his  weakened  frame,  the  other  still  filled 
with  her  all-absorbing  emotions  of  gratitude — the  father  and 
daughter  long  remained.  And  now,  as  morning  waned  to- 
ward noon,  the  storm  began  to  subside.  Gradually  and  sol- 
emnly the  vast  thunder-clouds  rolled  asunder,  and  the  bright 


302         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

blue  heaven  beyond  appeared  through  their  fantastic  rifta 
The  lessening  rain-drops  fell  light  and  silvery  to  the  earth, 
and  breeze  and  sunshine  were  wafted  at  fitful  intervals  over 
the  plague-tainted  atmosphere  of  Rome.  As  yet,  subdued 
by  the  shadows  of  the  floating  clouds,  the  dawning  sunbeams 
glittered  softly  through  the  windows  of  Numerian's  cham- 
ber. They  played,  warm  and  reviving,  over  his  worn  fea- 
tures, like  messengers  of  resurrection  and  hope  from  their 
native  heaven.  Life  seemed  to  expand  within  him  under 
their  fresh  and  gentle  ministering.  Once  more  he  raised 
himself  and  turned  toward  his  child;  and  now  his  heart 
throbbed  with  a  healthful  joy,  and  his  arms  closed  round  her, 
not  in  the  helplessness  of  infirmity,  but  in  the  welcome  of 
love. 

His  words,  when  he  spoke  to  her,  fell  at  first  almost  inar- 
ticulately from  his  lips — they  were  mingled  together  in  con- 
fused phrases  of  tenderness,  contrition,  thanksgiving.  All 
the  native  enthusiasm  of  his  disposition,  all  the  latent  love 
for  his  child,  which  had  for  years  been  suppressed  by  his 
austerity  or  diverted  by  his  ambition,  now  at  last  burst 
forth. 

Trembling  and  silent  in  his  arms,  Antonina  vainly  endeav- 
ored to  return  his  caresses,  and  to  answer  his  words  of  wel- 
come. Now  for  the  first  time  she  knew  how  deep  was  her 
father's  affection  for  her ;  she  felt  how  foreign  to  his  real  na- 
ture had  been  his  assumed  severity  in  their  intercourse  of 
former  days ;  and  in  the  quick  flow  of  new  feelings  and  old 
recollections  produced  by  the  delighting  surprise  of  the  dis- 
covery, she  found  herself  speechless.  She  could  only  listen 
eagerly,  breathlessly,  while  he  spoke.  His  words,  faltering 
and  confused  though  they  were,  were  words  of  endearment 
which  she  had  never  heard  from  him  before ;  they  were 
words  which  no  mother  had  ever  pronounced  beside  her  in- 
fant bed ;  and  they  sank  divinely  consoling  over  her  heart, 
as  messages  of  pardon  from  angel's  lips. 

Gradually  Numerian's  voice  grew  calmer.  He  raised  his 
daughter  in  his  arms,  and  bent  wistfully  on  her  face  his  at- 
tentive and  pitying  eyes.  "Returned,  returned  !"  he  mur- 
mured, while  he  gazed  on  her,  "  never  again  to  depart !  Re- 
turned, beautiful  and  patient,  kinder  and  more  tender  than 
ever !     Love  me  and  pardon  me,  Antonina.     I  sought  for 


ANTONINA ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  303 

you  in  bitter  loneliness  and  despair.  Think  not  of  me  as 
what  I  was,  but  as  what  I  am !  There  were  days  when  you 
were  yet  an  infant,  when  I  had  no  thought  but  how  to  cher- 
ish and  delight  you,  and  now  those  days  have  come  again. 
You  shall  read  no  gloomy  task-books;  you  shall  never  be 
separated  from  me  more ;  you  shall  play  sweet  music  on  the 
lute;  you  shall  be  all  garlanded  with  flowers  which  I  will 
provide  for  you  !  We  will  find  friends  and  glad  compan- 
ions ;  we  will  bring  happiness  with  us  wherever  we  are  seen  ! 
God's  blessing  goes  forth  from  children  like  you :  it  has  fall- 
en upon  me — it  has  raised  me  from  the  dead  !  My  Anto- 
nina  shall  teach  me  to  worship,  as  I  once  taught  her.  She 
shall  pray  for  me  in  the  morning,  and  pray  for  me  at  night ; 
and  when  she  thinks  not  of  it,  when  she  sleeps,  I  shall  come 
softly  to  her  bedside,  and  wait  and  watch  over  her,  so  that 
when  she  opens  her  eyes  they  shall  open  on  me — they  are 
the  eyes  of  my  child  who  has  been  restored  to  me — there  is 
nothing  on  earth  that  can  speak  to  me  like  them  of  happi- 
ness and  peace !" 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  looked  rapturously  on  her 
face  as  it  was  turned  toward  him.  His  features  partially 
saddened  while  he  gazed;  and  taking  her  long  hair — still 
wet  and  disheveled  from  the  rain — in  his  hands,  he  pressed 
it  over  his  lips,  over  his  face,  over  his  neck.  Then,  when  he 
saw  that  she  was  endeavoring  to  speak,  when  he  beheld  the 
tears  that  were  now  filling  her  eyes,  he  drew  her  closer  to 
him,  and  hurriedly  continued  in  lower  tones : 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  No  more  grief — no  more  tears  !  Tell  me 
not  whither  you  have  wandered  —  speak  not  of  what  you 
have  suffered  ;  for  would  not  every  word  be  a  reproach  to 
me?  And  you  have  come  to  pardon  and  not  to  reproach  ! 
Let  not  the  recollection  that  it  was  I  who  cast  you  off  be 
forced  on  me  from  your  lips !  let  us  remember  only  that  we 
are  restored  to  each  other;  let  us  think  that  God  has  accept- 
ed my  penitence  and  forgiven  me  my  sin,  in  suffering  my 
child  to  return  !  Or,  if  we  must  speak  of  the  days  of  sepa- 
ration that  are  past,  speak  to  me  of  the  days  that  found  you 
tranquil  and  secure;  rejoice  me,  by  telling  me  that  it  was 
not  all  danger  and  woe  in  the  bitter  destiny  which  my  guilty 
anger  prepared  for  my  own  child  !  Say  to  me  that  you  met 
protectors  as  well  as  enemies  in  the  hour  of  your  flight — that 


304         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

all  were  not  harsh  to  you,  as  I  was — that  those  of  whom  you 
asked  shelter  and  safety,  looked  on  your  face  as  on  a  peti- 
tion for  charity  and  kindness  from  friends  whom  they  loved  ! 
Tell  me  only  of  your  protectors,  Antonina,  for  in  that  there 
will  be  consolation  ;  and  you  have  come  to  console !" 

As  he  waited  for  her  reply,  he  felt  her  tremble  on  his  bo- 
som, he  saw  the  shudder  that  ran  over  her  frame.  The  de- 
spair in  her  voice,  though  she  only  pronounced  in  answer  to 
him  the  simple  words,  "There  was  one" — and  then  ceased, 
unable  to  proceed — penetrated  coldly  to  his  heart.  "  Is  he 
not  at  hand  ?"  he  hurriedly  resumed.  "  Why  is  he  not  here  ? 
Let  us  seek  him  without  delay.  I  must  humble  myself  be- 
fore him,  in  my  gratitude.  I  must  show  him  that  I  was  wor- 
thy that  my  Antonina  should  be  restored." 

"He  is  dead  !"  she  gasped,  sinking  down  in  the  arras  that 
embraced  her,  as  the  recollections  of  the  past  night  again 
crowded  in  all  their  horror  on  her  memory.  "  They  murder- 
ed him  by  my  side. — Oh  father,  father!  he  loved  me;  he 
would  have  reverenced  and  protected  youP'' 

"May  the  merciful  God  receive  him  among  the  blessed  an- 
gels, and  honor  him  among  the  holy  martyrs !"  cried  the  fa- 
ther, raising  his  tearful  eyes  in  supplication.  "May  his  spir- 
it, if  it  can  still  be  observant  of  the  things  of  earth,  know 
that  his  name  shall  be  written  on  my  heart  with  the  name 
of  my  child ;  that  I  will  think  on  him  as  on  a  beloved  com- 
panion, and  mourn  for  him  as  for  a  son  that  has  been  taken 
from  me !" 

He  ceased,  and  looked  down  on  Antonina,  whose  features 
were  still  hidden  from  him.  Each  felt  that  a  new  bond  of 
mutual  affection  had  been  created  between  them  by  what 
each  had  spoken,  but  both  now  remained  silent. 

During  this  interval,  the  thoughts  of  Numerian  wandered 
from  the  reflections  which  had  hitherto  occupied  him.  The 
few  mournful  words  which  his  daughter  had  spoken  had 
been  sufficient  to  banish  its  fullness  of  joy  from  his  heart, 
and  to  turn  him  from  the  happy  contemplation  of  the  pres- 
ent to  the  dark  recollections  of  the  past.  Yagne  doubts  and 
fears  now  mingled  with  his  gratitude  and  hope;  and  invol- 
untarily his  thoughts  reverted  to  what  he  would  fain  have 
forgotten  forever — to  the  morning  when  he  had  driven  An- 
tonina from  her  home. 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  305 

Baseless  apprehensions  of  the  return  of  the  treacherous 
Pagan  and  his  profligate  employer,  with  the  return  of  their 
victim — despairing  convictions  of  his  own  helplessness  and 
infirmity,  rose  startlingly  in  his  mind.  His  eyes  wandered 
vacantly  round  the  room,  his  hands  closed  treinbling  over 
his  daughter's  form;  then,  suddenly  releasing  her,  he  arose 
as  one  panic-stricken,  and  exclaiming,  "  The  doors  must  be 
secured  ! — Ulpius  may  be  near — the  senator  may  return  !"  en- 
deavored to  cross  the  room.  But  his  strength  was  unequal 
to  the  effort;  he  leaned  back  for  support  against  the  wall, 
and  breathlessly  repeating,  "Secure  the  doors! — Ulpius, Ul- 
pius !"  he  motioned  to  Autonina  to  descend. 

She  trembled  as  she  obeyed  him.  Remembering  her  pas- 
sage through  the  breach  in  the  wall,  and  her  fearful  journey 
through  the  streets  of  Rome,  she  more  than  shared  her  fa- 
ther's apprehensions  as  she  descended  the  stairs. 

The  door  remained  half  open,  as  she  had  left  it  when  she 
entered  the  house.  Ere  she  hurriedly  closed  and  barred  it, 
she  cast  a  momentary  glance  on  the  street  beyond.  The 
gaunt  figures  of  the  slaves  still  moved  wearily  to  and  fro 
amidst  the  mockery  of  festal  preparation  in  Vetranio's  pal- 
ace, and  here  and  there  a  few  ghastly  figures  lay  on  the 
ground  contemplating  them  in  languid  amazement.  Over 
all  other  parts  of  the  street  the  deadly  tranquillity  of  plague 
and  famine  still  prevailed. 

Hurriedly  ascending  the  steps,  Antonina  hastened  to  as- 
sure her  father  that  she  had  obeyed  his  commands,  and  that 
they  were  now  secure  from  all  intrusion  from  without.  But, 
during  her  brief  absence  a  new  and  more  ominous  prospect 
of  calamity  had  presented  itself  before  the  old  man's  mind. 

As  she  entered  the  room,  she  saw  that  he  had  returned 
to  his  couch,  and  that  he  was  holding  before  him  the  little 
wooden  bowl  which  had  contained  his  last  supply  of  food, 
and  which  was  now  empty.  He  addressed  not  a  word  to 
her  when  he  heard  her  enter;  his  features  were  rigid  with 
horror  and  despair  as  he  looked  down  on  the  empty  bowl, 
he  muttered  vacantly,  "  It  was  the  last  provision  that  re- 
mained, and  it  was  I  that  exhausted  it!  The  beasts  of  the 
forest  carry  food  to  their  young,  and  I  have  taken  the  last 
morsel  from  my  child  !" 

In  an  instant  the  utter  desolateness  of  their  situation — for- 


306  ANTONINA ;    OR,  THE   FALL    OF   ROME. 

gotten  in  the  first  joy  of  their  meeting — forced  itself  with 
appalling  vividness  upon  Antonina's  mind.  She  endeavored 
to  speak  of  comfort  and  hope  to  her  father;  but  the  fearful 
realities  of  the  famine  in  tlie  city  now  rose  palpably  before 
her,  and  suspended  the  vain  words  of  solace  on  her  lips.  In 
the  midst  of  still  populous  Rome,  within  sight  of  those  sur- 
rounding plains  where  the  creative  sun  ripened  hour  by  hour 
the  vegetation  of  the  teeming  earth,  where  field  and  granary 
displayed  profusely  their  a^bundant  stores,  the  father  and 
daughter  now  looked  on  each  other,  as  helpless  to  replace 
their  exhausted  provision  of  food,  as  if  they  had  been  aban- 
doned on  the  raft  of  the  shipwrecked  in  an  unexplored  sea, 
or  banished  to  a  lonely  island,  whose  inland  products  were 
withered  by  infected  winds,  and  around  whose  arid  shores 
ran  such  destroying  waters  as  seethe  over  the  "Cities  of 
the  Plain." 

The  silence  which  had  long  prevailed  in  the  room,  the 
bitter  reflections  which  still  held  the  despairing  father  and 
the  patient  daughter  speechless  alike,  were  at  length  inter- 
rupted by  a  hollow  and  melancholy  voice  from  the  street, 
pronouncing,  in  the  form  of  a  public  notice,  these  words: 

"I,  Publius  Dalmatius,  messenger  of  the  Roman  Senate, 
proclaim,  that  in  order  to  clear  the  streets  from  the  dead, 
three  thousand  sestertii  will  be  given  by  the  Prefect  for  ev- 
ery ten  bodies  that  are  cast  over  the  walls.  This  is  the  true 
decree  of  the  Senate." 

The  voice  ceased;  but  no  sound  of  applause,  no  murmur 
of  popular  tumult  was  heard  in  answer.  Then,  after  an  in- 
terval, it  was  once  more  faintly  audible  as  the  messenger 
passed  on  and  repeated  the  decree  in  another  street;  and 
then  the  silence  again  sank  down  over  all  things  more  aw- 
fully pervading  than  before. 

Every  word  of  the  proclamation,  when  repeated  in  the 
distance,  as  when  spoken  under  his  window,  had  reached  Nu- 
raerian's  ears.  His  mind,  already  sinking  in  despair,  was 
riveted  on  what  he  had  heard  from  the  woe-boding  voice  of 
the  herald,  with  a  fascination  as  absorbing  as  that  which 
rivets  the  eye  of  the  traveler,  already  giddy  on  the  summit 
of  a  precipice,  upon  the  spectacle  of  the  yawning  gulfs  be- 
neath. When  all  sound  of  the  proclamation  had  finally  died 
away,  the  unhappy  father  dropped  the  empty  bowl  which 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         307 

he  had  hitherto  mechanically  continued  to  hold  before  him, 
and  glancing  aftViglitedly  at  his  daughter,  groaned  to  him- 
self: "  The  corpses  are  to  be  cast  over  the  walls ;  the  dead 
are  to  be  flung  forth  to  the  winds  of  heaven  ! — there  is  no 
help  for  us  in  the  city.  Oh  God,  God ! — she  may  die ! — 
her  body  may  be  cast  away  like  the  rest,  and  I  may  live  to 
see  it !" 

He  rose  suddenly  from  the  couch;  his  reason  seemed  for 
a  moment  to  be  shaken  as  he  tottered  to  the  window,  cry- 
ing "Food!  food! — I  will  give  m\  house  and  all  it  con- 
tains for  a  morsel  of  food — I  have  nothing  to  support  my 
own  child  —  she  will  starve  before  me  by  to-morrow  if  I 
have  no  food !  I  am  a  citizen  of  Rome  —  I  demand  help 
from  the  Senate  !     Food  !  food  !" 

In  tones  declining  lower  and  lower  he  continued  to  cry 
thus  from  the  window,  but  no  voice  answered  him  either  in 
sympathy  or  derision.  Of  all  the  people  —  now  increased 
in  numbers — collected  in  the  street  before  Vetranio's  palace, 
not  one  turned  even  to  look  on  him.  For  days  and  days 
past  such  fruitless  appeals  as  his  had  been  heard,  and  heard 
unconcernedly  at  eVery  hour  and  in  every  street  of  Rome — 
now  ringing  through  the  heavy  air  in  the  shrieks  of  de- 
lirium, now  faintly  audible  in  the  last  faltering  murmurs 
of  exhaustion  and  despair. 

Thus  vainly  entreating  help  and  pity  from  a  populace 
who  had  ceased  to  give  the  one  or  to  feel  the  other,  Nume- 
rian  might  long  have  remained;  but  now  his  daughter  ap- 
proached his  side,  and  drawing  him  gently  toward  his 
couch,  said  in  tender  and  solemn  accents,  "Remember,  fa- 
ther, that  God  sent  the  ravens  to  feed  Elijah,  and  replen- 
ished the  Avidow's  cruse !  He  will  not  desert  us,  for  he  has 
restored  us  to  each  other ;  and  has  sent  me  hither  not  to 
perish  in  the  famine,  but  to  watch  over  you !" 

"God  has  deserted  the  city  and  all  that  it  contains!"  he 
answered,  distractedly*.  "  The  angel  of  destruction  has  gone 
forth  into  our  streets,  and  Death  walks  in  his  shadow !  On 
this  day,  when  hope  and  happiness  seemed  opening  before 
us  both,  our  little  household  lias  been  doomed  !  The  young 
and  the  old,  the  weary  and  the  watchful,  they  strew  the 
streets  alike — the  famine  has  mastered  them  all — the  famine 
will  master  us — there  is  no  help,  no  escape  !     I,  who  would 


308         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  EOMB. 

have  died  patiently  for  my  daughter's  safety,  must  now  die 
despairing,  leaving  her  friendless  in  the  wide,  dreary,  peril- 
ous world;  in  the  dismal  city  of  anguish,  of  horror,  of  death 
— where  the  enemy  threatens  without,  and  hunger  and  pes- 
tilence waste  within!  Oh  Antonina!  you  have  returned  to 
me  but  for  a  little  time ;  the  day  of  our  second  separation 
draws  near!" 

For  a  few  moments  his  head  drooped  and  his  sobs  choked 
his  utterance ;  then  he  once  more  rose  painfully  to  his  feet. 
Heedless  of  Antonina's  entreaties,  he  again  endeavored  to 
cross  the  room,  only  again  to  find  his  feeble  powers  unequal 
to  sustain  him.  As  he  fell  back  panting  upon  a  seat,  his 
eyes  assumed  a  wild,  unnatural  expression  — despair  of  mind 
and  weakness  of  body  had  together  partially  unhinged  his 
faculties.  When  his  daughter  affrightedly  approached  to 
soothe  and  succor  him,  he  impatiently  waved  her  back;  and 
began  to  speak  in  a  dull,  hoarse,  monotonous  voice,  press- 
ing his  hand  firmly  over  his  brow,  and  directing  his  eyes 
backward  and  forward  incessantly,  on  object  after  object, 
in  every  part  of  the  room. 

"  Listen,  child,  listen  !"  he  hastily  began  ;  "  I  tell  you  there 
is  no  food  in  the  house,  and  no  food  in  Rome ! — we  are  be- 
sieged— they  have  taken  from  us  our  granaries  in  the  sub- 
urbs and  our  fields  on  the  plains — there  is  a  great  famine  in 
the  cit^ — those  who  still  eat,  eat  strange  food  which  men 
sicken  at  when  it  is  named.  I  would  seek  even  this,  but  I 
have  no  strength  to  go  forth  into  the  by-ways  and  force  it 
from  others  at  the  point  of  the  sword  !  I  am  old  and  feeble, 
and  heart-broken — I  shall  die  first,  and  leave  fatherless  my 
good,  kind  daughter,  whom  I  sought  for  so  long,  and  whom 
I  loved  as  my  only  child  !" 

He  paused  for  an  instant — not  to  listen  to  the  words  of 
encouragement  and  hope  which  Antonina  mechanically  ad- 
dressed to  him  while  he  spoke,  but  to  collect  his  wander- 
ing thoughts,  to  rally  his  failing  stfength.  His  voice  ac- 
quired a  quicker  tone,  and  bis  features  presented  a  sudden 
energy  and  earnestness  of  expression,  as  if  some  new  proj- 
ect had  flashed  across  his  mind,  when,  after  an  interval,  he 
continued  thus: 

"But  though  my  child  shall  be  bereaved  of  me,  though 
I  shall  die  in  the  hour  whea  I  most  longed  to  live  for  her. 


axtoxixa;  or,  the  fall  op  rome.  309 

I  must  not  leave  her  helpless;  I  will  send  her  among  my 
congregation  who  have  deserted  me,  but  who  will  repent 
when  they  hear  that  I  am  dead,  and  will  receive  Antonina 
among  them  for  my  sake  I  Listen  to  this  —  listen,  listen  ! 
You  mnst  tell  them  to  remember  all  that  I  once  revealed  to 
them  of  my  brother,  from  whom  I  parted  in  my  boyhood — 
my  brother,  whom  I  have  never  seen  since :  he  may  yet  be 
alive,  he  may  be  found ;  they  must  search  for  him — for  to 
you  he  would  be  father  to  the  fatherless  and  guardian  to  the 
unguarded  :  he  may  now  be  in  Rome,  he  may  be  rich  and 
powerful  —  he  may  have  food  to  spare,  and  shelter  that  is 
good  against  all  enemies  and  strangers !  Attend,  child,  to 
my  words :  in  these  latter  days  I  have  thought  of  him  much ; 
I  have  seen  him  in  dreams  as  I  saw  him  for  the  last  time  in 
my  father's  house ;  he  was  liappier  and  more  beloved  than  I 
was ;  and  in  envy  and  hatred  I  quitted  my  parents  and  part- 
ed from  him.  You  have  heard  nothing  of  this ;  but  you 
must  hear  it  now;  £hat  when  I  am  dead  you  may  know  you 
have  a  protector  to  seek  !  So  I  received  in  anger  my  broth- 
er's farewell,  and  fled  from  my  home — (those  days  were 
well  remembered  by  me  once,  but  all  things  grow  dull  on 
my  memory  now) — long  years  of  turmoil  and  change  passed 
on,  and  I  never  met  him  ;  and  men  of  many  nations  were 
my  companions,  but  he  was  not  among  them;  then  much 
affliction  fell  upon  me,  and  I  repented  and  learned  the  fear 
of  God,  and  went  back  to  my  father's  house.  Since  that, 
years  have  passed — I  know  not  how  many ;  I  could  have 
told  them  when  I  spoke  of  mj'  former  life  to  him,'  to  my 
friend,  when  we  stood  near  St.  Peter's,  ere  the  city  was  be- 
sieged, looking  on  the  sunset,  and  speaking  of  the  early  days 
of  our  companionship ;  but  now  my  very  remembrance  fails 
me;  the  famine  that  threatens  us  with  separation  and  death, 
casts  darkness  over  my  thoughts;  yet  hear  me,  hear  me 
patiently — for  your  sake  I  must  continue  !" 

"Not  now,  father — not  now !  At  another  time,  on  a  happier 
day  !"  murmured  Antonina,  in  tremulous,  entreating  tones. 

"My  home,  when  I  arrived  to  look  on  it,  was  gone,"  pur- 
sued the  old  man,  sadU',  neither  heeding  nor  hearing  her. 
"Other  houses  were  built  where  my  fathei-'s  house  had 
stood  ;  no  man  could  tell  me  of  my  parents  -and  my  brother; 
then  I  returned,  and  my  former  companions  grew  hateful  in 


310  antonina;  or,  the  fall  or  rome. 

my  eyes;  I  left  them,  and  they  followed  me  with  persecu- 
tion and  scorn.  Listen,  listen ! — I  set  forth  secretly  in  the 
night,  with  you,  to  escape  them ;  and  to  make  perfect  my 
reformation  where  they  should  not  be  near  to  hinder  it ;  and 
we  traveled  onward  many  days  until  we  came  to  Rome,  and 
I  made  my  abode  there.  But  I  feared  that  my  companions 
whom  I  abhorred  might  discover  and  persecute  me  again ; 
and  in  the  new  city  of  my  dwelling  I  called  myself  by  an- 
other name  than  the  name  that  I  bore;  thus  I  knew  that  all 
trace  of  me  would  be  lost,  and  that  I  should  be  kept  secure 
from  men  whom  I  thought  on  only  as  enemies  now.  Go, 
child  ! — go  quickly  ! — bring  your  tablets  and  write  down  the 
names  that  I  shall  tell  you;  for  so  you  will  discover  your 
protector  when  I  am  gone !  Say  not  to  him  that  you  are 
the  child  of  Numerian — he  knows  not  the  name ;  say  that 
you  are  the  daughter  of  Oleander,  his  brother,  who  died 
longing  to  be  restored  to  him — write !  write  carefully,  Ole- 
ander!— that  was  the  name  my  fathev  gave  to  me,  that 
was  the  name  I  bore  until  I  fled  from  my  evil  companions 
and  changed  it,  dreading  their  pursuit!  Oleander!  write 
and  remember,  Oleander!  I  have  seen  in  visions  that  my 
brother  shall  be  discovered  :  he  will  not  be  discovered  to  me, 
but  he  will  be  discovered  to  you!  Your  tablets — your  tab- 
lets !  write  his  name  with  mine — it  is — " 

He  stopped  abruptly.  His  mental  powers,  fluctuating  be- 
tween torpor  and  animation — shaken,  but  not  overpowered 
by  the  trials  which  had  assailed  them — suddenly  rallied,  and 
resuming  somewhat  of  their  accustomed  balance,  became 
awakened  to  a  sense  of  their  own  aberration.  His  vague 
revelations  of  his  past  life  (which  the  reader  will  recognize 
as  resembling  his  communications  on  the  same  subject  to  the 
fugitive  land-owner,  previously  related)  now  appeared  be- 
fore him  in  all  their  incongruity  and  uselessness.  His 
cojintenance  fell — he  sighed  bitterly  to  himself:  "My  reason 
begins  to  desert  me  ! — my  judgment,  which  shojild  guide 
my  child — my  resolution,  which  should  uphold  her,  both  fail 
me  !  How  should  my  brother,  since  boyhood  lost  to  me,  be 
found  hy  her?  Against  the  famine  that  threatens  us,  I  offer 
but  vain  words! — already  her  strength  declines;  her  face, 
that  I  loved  to  look  on,  grows  wan  before  my  eyes !  God 
have  mercy  upon  us  !     God  have  mercy  upon  us  !" 


antonina;  oe,  the  fall  of  rome.  311 

He  returned  feebly  to  his  couch,  his  head  declined  on  his 
bosom;  sometimes  a  low  groan  burst  from  his  lips,  but  he 
spoke  no  more. 

Deep  as  was  the  prostration  under  which  he  had  now  fall- 
en, it  was  yet  less  painful  to  Autoniua  to  behold  it  than  to 
listen  to  the  incoherent  revelations  which  had  fallen  from 
his  lips  but  the  moment  before,  and  which,  in  her  astonish- 
ment and  aifright,  she  had  dreaded  might  be  the  awful  indi- 
cations of  the  overthrow  of  her  father's  reason.  As  she 
again  placed  herself  by  his  side,  she  trembled  to  feel  that 
her  own  weariness  was  fast  overpowering  her;  but  she  still 
struggled  with  her  rising  despair— still  strove  to  think  only 
of  capacity  for  endurance  and  chances  of  relief 

The  silence  in  the  room  was  deep  and  dismal,  while  they 
now  sat  together.  The  faint  breezes,  at  long  intervals, 
drowsily  rose  and  fell,  as  they  floated  through  the  open  win- 
dow; the  fitful  sunbeams  alternately  appeared  and  vanish- 
ed, as  the  clouds  rolled  upward  in  airy  succession  over  the 
face  of  heaven.  Time  moved  sternly  in  its  destined  prog- 
ress, and  nature  varied  tranquilly  through  its  appointed 
limits  of  change,  and  still  no  hopes,  no  saving  projects,  noth- 
ing but  dark  recollections  and  woeful  anticipations  occupied 
Antonina's  mind — when,  just  as  her  weary  head  was  droop- 
ing toward  the  ground — just  as  sensation  and  fortitude  and 
grief  itself  seemed  ^ieclining  into  a  dreamless  and  deadly 
sleep  —  a  last  thought,  void  of  discernible  connection  or 
cause,  rose  suddenly  within  her,  animating,  awakening,  in- 
spiring. She  started  up.  "The  garden,  father — the  gar- 
den !"  she  cried,  breathlessly.  "  Remember  the  food  that 
grows  in  our  garden  below ! — be  comforted,  we  have  pro- 
vision left  yet — God  has  not  deserted  us  !" 

He  raised  his  face  while  she  spoke ;  his  features  assumed 
a  deeper  mournfulness  and  hopelessness  of  expression ;  he 
looked  upon  her  in  ominous  silence,  and  laid  his  trembling 
fingers  on  her  arm  to  detain  her,  when  she  hurriedly  at- 
tempted to  quit  the  room, 

"Do  not  forbid  me  to  depart,"  she  anxiously  pleaded. 
"To  me  every  corner  in  the  garden  is  known,  for  it  was  my 
possession  in  our  happier  days;  our  last  hopes  rest  on  the 
garden,  and  I  must  search  through  it  without  delay  !  Bear 
with  me,"  she  added,  in  low  and  melancholy  tones,  "  bear 


312  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

with  me,  dear  father,  in  all  that  I  would  now  do !  I  have 
suffered,  since  we  parted,  a  bitter  affliction,  which  clings 
dark  and  heavy  to  all  my  thoughts;  there  is  no  consola- 
tion for  me  but  the  privilege  of  caring  for  yo^ir  welfare — 
my  only  hope  of  comfort  is  in  the  employment  of  aiding 
you  /" 

The  old  man's  hand  had  pressed  heavier  on  her  arm,  while 
she  addressed  him;  but  when  she  ceased,  it  dropped  from 
her,  and  he  bent  his  head  in  speechless  submission  to  her  en- 
treaty. For  one  moment  she  lingered,  looking  on  him  silent 
as  himself;  the  next,  she  left  the  apartment  with  hasty  and 
uncertain  steps. 

On  reaching  the  garden,  she  unconsciously  took  the  path 
leading  to  tlie  bank  where  she  had  once  loved  to  play  secret- 
ly upon  her  lute,  and  to  look  on  the  distant  mountains  repos- 
ing in  the  warm  atmosphere  which  summer  evenings  shed 
over  their  blue  expanse.  How  eloquent  was  this  little  plot 
of  ground  of  the  quiet  events  now  forever  gone  by — of  the 
joys,  the  hopes,  the  happy  occupations,  which  rise  with  the 
day  that  chronicles  them,  and  pass  like  that  day,  never  to 
return  the  same — which  the  memory  alone  can  preserve  as 
they  were  ;  and  the  heart  can  never  resume  but  in  a  changed 
form,  divested  of  the  presence  of  the  companion,  of  the  in- 
cident of  the  departed  moment,  which  formed  the  charm  of 
the  past  and  makes  the  imperfection  of  .the  present ! 

Tender  and  thronging  were  the  remembrances  which  the 
surrounding  prospect  called  up,  as  the  sad  mistress  of  the 
garden  looked  again  on  her  little  domain  !  She  saw^  the 
bank  where  she  could  never  more  sit  to  sing  w  ith  a  renewal 
of  the  same  feelings  which  had  once  inspired  her  music — 
she  saw  the  drooping  flowers  that  she  could  never  restore 
with  the  same  child-like  enjoyment  of  the  task  which  had 
animated  her  in  former  hours  !  Young  though  she  still  was, 
the  emotions  of  the  youthful  days  that  were  gone  could  nev- 
er be  revived  as  they  had  once  existed  !  As  waters  they 
had  welled  up,  and  as  waters  they  had  flowed  forth,  never  to 
return  to  their  source  !  Thoughts  of  these  former  years — 
of  the  young  warrior  who  lay  cold  beneath  the  heavy  earth 
— of  the  desponding  father  who  mourned  hopeless  in  the 
room  above — gathered  thick  at  her  heart,  as  she  turned  from 
her  flower-beds — not,  as  in  other  days,  to  pour  forth  her  hap- 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  313 

piness  to  the  music  of  her  lute,  but  to  search  laboriously 
for  the  sustenance  of  life. 

At  first,  as  she  stooped  over  those  places  in  the  garden 
where  she  knew  that  fruits  and  vegetables  had  been  planted 
by  her  own  hand,  her  tears  blinded  her;  she  hastily  dashed 
them  away,  and  looked  eagerly  around. 

Alas,  others  had  reaped  the  field  from  which  she  had  hoped 
abundance !  In  the  early  days  of  the  famine,  Nuraerian's 
congregation  had  entered  the  garden,  and  gathered  for  him 
whatever  it  contained :  its  choicest  and  its  homeliest  prod- 
ucts were  alike  exhausted  ;  withered  leaves  laj^  on  the  bar- 
ren earth,  and  naked  branches  waved  over  them  in  the  air. 
She  wandered  from  path  to  path,  searching  amidst  the  briers 
and  thistles,  which  already  cast  an  aspect  of  ruin  over  the 
deserted  place ;  she  explored  its  most  hidden  corners  with 
the  painful  perseverance  of  despair;  but  the  same  barren- 
ness spread  around  her  wherever  she  turned.  On  this  once 
fertile  spot,  which  she  had  entered  with  such  joyful  faith  in 
its  resources,  there  remained  but  a  few  decayed  roots,  drop- 
ped and  forgotten  amidst  tangled  weeds  and  faded  flowers. 

She  saw  that  they  were  barely  sufiicient  for  one  scanty 
meal,  as  she  collected  them,  and  returned  slowly  to  the  house. 
No  words  escaped  her,  no  tears  flowed  over  her  cheeks,  when 
she  re-ascended  the  steps — hope,  fear,  thought,  sensation  it- 
self, had  been  stunned  within  her,  from  the  first  moment 
when  she  had  discovered  that,  in  the  garden  as  in  the  house, 
the  inexorable  famine  had  anticipated  the  last  chances  of 
relief. 

She  entered  the  room,  and  still  holding  the  withered  roots, 
advanced  mechanically  to  her  father's  side.  During  her  ab- 
sence, his  mental  and  bodily  faculties  had  both  yielded  to 
wearied  nature — he  l^y  in  a  deep,  heavy  sleep. 

Her  mind  experienced  a  faint  relief  when  she  saw  that  the 
fatal  necessity  of  confessing  the  futility  of  the  hopes  she  had 
herself  awakened  was  spared  her  for  a  while.  She  knelt  down 
by  Xumerian,  and  gently  smoothed  the  hair  over  his  brow ; 
then  she  drew  the  curtain  across  the  window,  for  she  feared 
even  that  the  breeze  blowing  through  it  might  arouse  him. 
A  strange,  secret  satisfaction  at  the  idea  of  devoting  to  her 
/ather  every  moment  of  the  time  and  every  particle  of  the 
strength  that  might  yet  be  reserved  for  her — a  ready  resig- 

14 


3l4  ANT ONiNA  ;    OR,  TttBl    FALL    OF    ROME. 

nation  to  death,  in  dying  for  him — overspread  her  heart,  and 
took  the  place  of  all  other  aspirations  and  all  other  tlioughts. 

She  now  moved  to  and  fro  through  the  room,  with  a  cau- 
tious tranquillity  which  nothing  could  startle ;  she  prepared 
her  decayed  roots  for  food,  with  a  patient  attention  which 
nothing  could  divert.  Lost,  through  the  aggravated  miser- 
ies of  her  position,  to  recent  grief  and  present  apprehension, 
she  could  still  instinctively  perform  the  simple  offices  of  the 
woman  and  the  daughter,  as  she  might  have  performed  them 
amidst  a  peaceful  nation  and  a  prosperous  home.  Thus  do 
the  first-born  affections  outlast  the  exhaustion  of  all  the 
stormy  emotions,  all  the  aspiring  thoughts  of  after  years, 
which  may  occupy,  but  which  can  not  absorb,  the  spirit 
within  us ;  thus  does  their  friendly  and  familiar  voice,  when 
the  clamor  of  contending  passions  has  died  away  in  its  own 
fury,  speak  again,  serene  and  sustaining  as  in  the  early  time, 
when  the  mind  moved  secure  within  the  limits  of  its  native 
simplicity,  and  the  heart  yet  lay  happy  in  the  pure  tranquil- 
lity of  its  first  repose! 

The  last  scanty  measure  of  food  was  soon  prepared ;  it  was 
bitter  and  unpalatable  when  she  tasted  it — life  could  barely 
be  preserved,  even  in  the  most  vigorous,  by  provision  so 
wretched — but  she  set  it  aside  as  carefully  as  if  it  had  been 
the  most  precious  luxury  of  the  most  abundant  feast. 

Nothing  had  changed  during  the  interval  of  her  solitary 
employment — her  father  yet  slept ;  the  gloomy  silence  yet 
prevailed  in  the  street.  She  placed  herself  at  the  window, 
and  partially  drew  aside  the  curtain  to  let  the  warm  breezes 
from  without  blow  over  her  cold  brow.  The  same  ineffable 
resignation,  the  same  unnatural  quietude,  which  had  sunk 
down  over  her  faculties  since  she  had  entered  the  room, 
overspread  them  still.  Surrounding  objects  failed  to  im- 
press her  attention ;  recollections  and  forebodings  stagnated 
in  her  mind.  A  marble  composure  prevailed  over  her  fea- 
tures ;  sometimes  her  eyes  wandered  mechanically  from  the 
morsels  of  food  by  her  side  to  her  sleeping  father,  as  her  one 
vacant  idea  of  watching  for  his  service,  till  the  feeble  pulses 
of  life  had  throbbed  their  last,  alternately  revived  and  de- 
clined ;  but  no  other  evidences  of  bodily  existence  or  mental 
activity  appeared  in  her.  As  she  now  sat  in  the  half-dark- 
ened room,  by  the  couch  on  which  her  father  reposed — her 


antonina;  OB,  thk  i'all  of  home,  315 

features  pale,  calm,  and  rigid,  her  form  enveloped,  in  cold 
white  drapery — there  were  moments  when  she  looked  like 
one  of  the  penitential  devotees  of  the  primitive  Church  ap- 
pointed to  watch  in  the  house  of  mourning,  and  surprised  on 
her  saintly  vigil  by  the  advent  of  death. 

Time  flowed  on — the  monotonous  hours  of  the  day  waned 
again  toward  night ;  and  plague  and  famine  told  their  lapse 
in  the  fated  highways  of  Rome.  For  father  and  child  the 
sand  in  the  glass  was  fast  running  out ;  and  neither  marked 
it  as  it  diminished.  The  sleeper  still  reposed,  and  the  guard- 
ian by  his  side  still  watched ;  but  now  her  weary  gaze 
was  directed  on  the  street,  unconsciously  attracted  by  the 
sound  of  voices,  which  at  length  rose  from  it  at  intervals, 
and  by  the  light  of  torches  and  lamps,  which  appeared  in 
the  great  palace  of  the  senator  Vetranio,  as  the  sun  grad- 
ually declined  in  the  horizon,  and  the  fiery  clouds  around 
were  quenched  in  the  vapors  of  the  advancing  night.  Stead- 
ily she  looked  upon  the  sight  beneath  and  before  her;  but, 
even  yet,  her  limbs  never  moved ;  no  expression  relieved 
the  blank,  solemn  peacefulness  of  her  features. 

Meanwhile,  the  soft,  brief  twilight  glimmered  over  the 
earth,  and  showed  the  cold  moon,  poised  solitary  in  the  star- 
less heaven — then  the  stealthy  darkness  arose  at  her  pale 
signal,  and  closed  slowly  round  the  City  of  Death  ! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    BANQUET   OP   FAMINE. 


Of  all  prophecies  none  are,  perhaps,  so  frequently  errone- 
ous as  those  on  which  we  are  most  apt  to  venture,  in  en- 
deavoring to  foretell  the  eifect  of  outward  events  on  the 
characters  of  men.  In  no  form  of  our  anticipations  are  we 
more  frequently  baffled  than  in  such  attempts  to  estimate 
beforehand  the  influence  of  circumstance  over  conduct,  not 
only  in  others,  but  also  even  in  ourselves.  Let  the  event 
but  happen,  and  men,  whom  we  view  by  the  light  of  our 
previous  observation  of  them,  act  under  it  as  the  living  con- 
tradictions of  their  own  characters.  The  friend  of  our  daily 
social  intercourse,  in  the  progress  of  life,  and  the  favorite 


316  antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  Rome. 

hero  of  our  historic  studies,  in  the  progress  of  the  page,  as- 
tonish, exceed,  or  disappoint  our  expectations  alike.  We 
find  it  as  vain  to  foresee  a  cause,  as  to  fix  a  limit,  for  the 
arbitrary  inconsistencies  in  the  dispositions  of  mankind. 

But  though  to  speculate  upon  the  futuie  conduct  of  oth- 
ers under  impending  circumstances  be  but  too  often  to  ex- 
pose the  fallacy  of  our  wisest  anticipations,  to  contemplate 
the  nature  of  that  conduct  after  it  has  been  displayed  is 
a  useful  subject  of  curiosity,  and  may  perhaps  be  made  a 
fruitful  source  of  instruction.  Similar  events  which  succeed 
each  other  at  different  periods  are  relieved  from  monotony, 
and  derive  new  importance,  from  the  ever- varying  effects 
which  they  produce  on  the  human  character.  Thus,  in  the 
great  occurrence  which  forms  the  foundation  of  our  narra- 
tive, we  may  find  little  in  the  siege  of  Rome,  looking  at  it 
as  a  mere  event,  to  distinguish  it  remarkably  from  any  for- 
mer siege  of  the  city  —  the  same  desire  for  glory  and  ven- 
geance, wealth  and  dominion,  which  brought  Alaric  to  her 
walls,  brought  other  invaders  before  him.  But  if  we  ob- 
serve the  effect  of  the  Gothic  descent  upon  Italy  on  the 
inhabitants  of  her  capital,  we  shall  find  ample  matter  for 
novel  contemplation  and  unbounded  surprise. 

We  shall  perceive,  as  an  astonishing  instance  of  the  in- 
consistencies of  the  human  character,  the  spectacle  of  a 
whole  people  resolutely  defying  an  overwhelming  foreign 
invasion  at  their  very  doors,  just  at  the  period  when  they 
had  fallen  most  irremediably  from  the  highest  position  of 
national  glory  to  the  lowest  depths  of  national  degradation; 
resisting  an  all-powerful  enemy  with  inflexible  obstinacy, 
for  the  honor  of  the  Roman  name,  which  they  had  basely 
dishonored  or  carelessly  forgotten  for  ages  past.  We  shall 
behold  men,  who  have  hitherto-  laughed  at  the  very  name 
of  patriotism,  now  starving  resolutely  in  their  country's 
cause ;  who  stopped  at  no  villainy  to  obtain  wealth,  now 
hesitating  to  employ  their  ill-gotten  gains  in  the  purchase 
of  the  most  important  of  all  gratifications  —  their  own  se- 
curity and  peace.  Instances  of  the  unimaginable  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  event  of  the  siege  of  Rome  on  the  characters 
of  her  inhabitants  might  be  drawn  from  all  classes,  from 
the  lowest  to  the  highest,  from  patrician  to  plebeian ;  but 
to  produce  them  here  would  be  to  admit  too  long  an  inter- 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  31 7 

ruption  in  the  progress  of  the  present  narrative.  If  we  are 
to  enter  at  all  into  detail  on  such  a  subject,  it  must  be  only 
in  a  case  clearly  connected  with  the  actual  requirements  of 
our  story ;  and  such  a  case  may  be  found,  at  this  juncture, 
in  the  conduct  of  the  senator  Vetranio,  under  the  influence 
of  the  worst  calamities  attending  the  blockade  of  Rome  by 
the  Goths. 

Who,  it  may  be  asked,  knowing  the  previous  character 
of  this  man,  his  frivolity  of  disposition,  his  voluptuous  anx- 
iety for  unremitting  enjoyment  and  ease,  his  horror  of  the 
slightest  approaches  of  affliction  or  pain,  Avould  have  im- 
agined him  capable  of  rejecting  in  disdain  all  the  minor 
chances  of  present  security  and  future  prosperity  which  his 
unbounded  power  and  wealth  might  have  procured  for  him, 
even  in  a  famine  -  stricken  city,  and  rising  suddenly  to  the 
sublime  of  criminal  desperation,  in  the  resolution  to  aban- 
don life  as  worthless  the  moment  it  had  ceased  to  run  in  the 
easy  current  of  all  former  years  ?  Yet  to  this  determina- 
tion had  he  now  arrived ;  and  still  more  extraordinary,  in 
this  determination  had  he  found  others,  of  his  own  patrician 
order,  to  join  him. 

The  reader  will  remember  his  wild  announcement  of  his 
intended  orgy  to  the  Prefect  Pompeianus,  during  the  earlier 
periods  of  the  siege:  that  announcement  was  now  to  be  ful- 
filled. Vetranio  had  bidden  his  guests  to  the  Banquet  of 
Famine.  A  chosen  number  of  the  senators  of  the  great  city 
were  to  vindicate  their  daring  by  dying  the  revelers  that 
they  had  lived ;  by  resigning  in  contempt  all  prospect  of 
starving,  like  the  common  herd,  on  a  lessening  daily  pittance 
of  loathsome  food ;  by  making  their  triumphant  exit  from  a 
fettered  and  ungrateful  life,  drowned  in  floods  of  wine,  and 
lighted  by  the  fires  of  the  wealthiest  palace  of  Rome  ! 

It  had  been  intended  to  keep  this  frantic  determination  a 
profound  secret,  to  let  the  mighty  catastrophe  burst  upon 
the  remaining  inhabitants  of  the  city  like  a  prodigy  from 
heaven;  but  the  slaves  intrusted  with  the  organization  of 
the  suicide  banquet  had  been  bribed  to  their  tasks  with 
wine,  and  in  the  carelessness  of  intoxication  had  revealed  to 
others  whatever  they  heard  within  the  palace  walls.  The 
news  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth.  There  was  enough  in 
the  prospect  of  beholding  the  burning  palace  and  the  drunk- 


318  ANTONINA;    or,  the   fall   op   ROME. 

en  suicide  of  its  desperate  guests,  to  animate  even  the  stag- 
nant curiosity  of  a  famishing  mob. 

On  the  appointed  evening  the  people  dragged  their  weary 
limbs  from  all  quarters  of  the  city  toward  the  Pincian  Hill. 
Many  of  them  died  on  the  way ;  many  lost  their  resolution 
to  proceed  to  the  end  of  their  journey,  and  took  shelter  sul- 
lenly in  the  empty  houses  on  the  road ;  many  found  oppor 
tunities  for  plunder  and  crime  as  they  proceeded,  which 
tempted  them  from  their  destination  ;  but  many  persevered 
in  their  purpose,  the  living  dragging  the  dying  along  with 
them,  the  desperate  driving  the  cowardly  before  them  in 
malignant  sport,  until  they  gained  the  palace  gates.  It  was 
by  their  voices,  as  they  reached  her  ear  from  the  street,  that 
the  fast -sinking  faculties  of  Antonina  had  been  startled, 
though  not  revived ;  and  there,  on  the  broad  pavement,  lay 
these  citizens  of  a  falling  city ;  a  congregation  of  pestilence 
and  crime — a  starving  and  an  awful  band  ! 

The  moon,  brightened  by  the  increasing  darkness,  now 
clearly  illuminated  the  street,  and  revealed,  in  a  narrow 
space,  a  various  and  impressive  scene. 

One  side  of  the  roadway  in  which  stood  V^etranio's  palace 
was  occupied  along  each  extremity,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach  at  night,  by  the  groves  and  outbuildings  attached  to 
the  senator's  mansion.  The  palace -grounds,  at  the  higher 
and  farther  end  of  the  street — looking  from  the  Pincian 
Gate  —  crossed  it  by  a  wide  archway,  and  then  stretched 
backward,  until  they  joined  the  trees  of  the  little  garden  of 
Numerian's  abode.  In  a  line  with  this  house,  but  separated 
from  it  by  a  short  space,  stood  a  long  row  of  buildings,  let 
out  floor  by  floor  to  separate  occupants,  and  towering  to  an 
unwieldy  altitude — for  in  Ancient  Rome,  as  in  Modern  Lon- 
don, in  consequence  of  the  high  price  of  land  in  an  overpop- 
ulated  city,  builders  could  only  secure  space  in  a  dwelling 
by  adding  inconveniently  to  its  height.  Beyond  these  hab- 
itations rose  the  trees  surrounding  another  patrician  abode, 
and  beyond  that  the  houses  took  a  sudden  turn,  and  nothing 
more  was  visible  in  a  straight  line  but  the  dusky,  indefinite 
objects  of  the  distant  view. 

The  whole  appearance  of  the  street  before  Vetranio's  man- 
sion, had  it  been  unoccupied  by  the  repulsive  groups  now 
formed  in  it,  would  have  been  eminently  beautiful,  at  the 


antoxina;   or,  the  fall  of  rome.  319 

hour  of  which  we  now  write.  The  nobly  symmetrical  front- 
age of  the  palace  itself,  with  its  graceful  succession  of  long 
porticoes  and  colossal  statues,  contrasted  by  the  picturesque- 
ly irregular  appearance  of  the  opposite  dwelling  of  Nume- 
rian  and  the  lofty  houses  by  its  side ;  the  soft,  indistinct  mass- 
es of  foliage,  running  parallel  along  the  upper  ends  of  the 
street,  terminated  and  connected  by  the  archway  garden 
across  the  road,  on  which  were  planted  a  group  of  tall  pine- 
trees,  rising  in  gigantic  relief  against  the  transparent  sky ; 
the  brilliant  light  streaming  across  the  pavement  from  Ve- 
tranio's  gayly-curtained  windows,  immediately  opposed  by 
the  tranquil  moonlight  which  lit  the  more  distant  view — 
formed  altogether  a  prospect  in  which  the  natural  and  the 
artificial  were  mingled  together  in  the  most  exquisite  pro- 
portions—  a  prospect  whose  ineffable  poetry  and  beauty 
might,  on  any  other  night,  have  charmed  the  most  careless 
eye  and  exalted  the  most  frivolous  mind.  But  now,  over- 
spread as  it  was  by  groups  of  people,  gaunt  with  famine  and 
hideous  with  disease ;  startled  as  it  was,  at  gloomy  inter- 
vals, by  contending  cries  of  supplication,  defiance,  and  de- 
spair, its  brightest  beauties  of  Xature  and  Art  appeared  but 
to  shine  with  an  aspect  of  bitter  mockery  around  the  human 
misery  which  their  splendor  disclosed. 

Upward  of  a  hundred  people — mostly  of  the  lowest  orders 
— were  congregated  before  the  senator's  devoted  dwelling. 
Some  few  among  them  passed  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  street, 
their  figures  gliding  shadowy  and  solemn  through  the  light 
around  them ;  but  the  greater  number  lay  on  the  pavement 
before  the  wall  of  Xumerian's  dwelling  and  the  door- ways 
of  the  lofty  houses  by  its  side.  Illuminated  by  the  full  glare 
of  the  light  from  the  palace  windows,  these  groups,  huddled 
together  in  the  distorted  attitudes  of  suffering  and  despair, 
assumed  a  fearful  and  unearthly  appearance.  Their  shrivel- 
ed faces,  their  tattered  clothing,  their  wan  forms,  here  pros- 
trate, there  half  raised,  were  bathed  in  a  steady  red  glow. 
High  above  them,  at  the  windows  of  the  tall  houses,  now 
tenanted  in  every  floor  by  the  dead,  appeared  a  few  figures 
(the  mercenary  guardians  of  the  dying  within)  bending  for- 
ward to  look  out  upon  the  palace  opposite — their  haggard 
faces  showing  pale  in  the  clear  moonlight.  Sometimes  their 
voices  were  heard,  calling  in  mockery  to  the  mass  of  people 


320  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL   OP   KOME. 

below  to  break  down  the  strong  steel  gates  of  the  palace, 
and  tear  the  full  wine-cup  from  its  master's  lips.  Sometimes 
those  beneath  replied  with  execrations,  which  rose  wildly- 
mingled  with  the  wailing  of  women  and  children,  the  moans 
of  the  plague-stricken,  and  the  supplications  of  the  famished, 
to  the  slaves  passing  backward  and  forward  behind  the  pal- 
ace railings,  for  charity  and  help. 

In  the  intervals,  when  the  tumult  of  weak  voices  was  par- 
tially lulled,  there  was  heard  a  dull,  regular,  beating  sound, 
produced  by  those  who  had  found  dry  bones  on  their  road 
to  the  palace,  and  were  pounding  them  on  the  pavement,  in 
sheltered  places,  for  food.  The  wind,  which  had  been  re- 
freshing during  the  day,  had  changed  at  sunset,  and  now 
swept  up  slowly  over  the  street,  in  hot,  faint  gusts,  plague- 
laden  from  the  east.  Particles  of  the  ragged  clothing  on 
some  prostrate  forms  lying  most  exposed  in  its  course,  waved 
slowly  to  and  fro,  as  it  passed,  like  banners  planted  by  Death 
on  the  yielding  defenses  of  the  citadel  of  Life.  It  wound 
through  the  open  windows  of  the  palace,  hot  and  mephitic, 
as  if  tainted  with  the  breath  of  the  foul  and  furious  words 
which  it  bore  onward  into  the  banqueting-hall  of  the  sen- 
ator's reckless  guests.  Driven  over  such  scenes  as  now 
spread  beneath  it,  it  derived  from  tliem  a  portentous  signifi- 
cance— it  seemed  to  blow  like  an  atmosphere  exuded  from 
the  furnace  depths  of  centre  earth,  breathing  sinister  warn- 
ings of  some  deadly  convulsion  in  the  whole  fabric  of  Na- 
ture over  the  thronged  and  dismal  street. 

Such  was  the  prospect  before  the  palace,  and  such  the 
spectators  assembled  in  ferocious  anxiety  to  behold  the  de- 
struction of  the  senator's  abode.  Meanwhile,  within  the 
walls  of  the  building,  the  beginning  of  the  fatal  orgy  was  at 
hand. 

It  had  been  covenanted  by  the  slaves  (who,  during  the 
calamities  in  the  besieged  city,  had  relaxed  in  their  accus- 
tomed implicit  obedience  to  their  master  with  perfect  impu- 
nity), that  as  soon  as  the  last  labors  of  preparation  were 
completed,  they  should  be  free  to  consult  their  own  safety 
by  quitting  the  devoted  palace.  Already  some  of  the  weak-  - 
est  and  most  timid  of  their  numbers  might  be  seen  pass- 
ing out  hastily  into  the  gardens  by  the  back  gates,  like  en- 
gineers who  had  fired  a  train,  and  were  escaping  ere  the  ex- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  home.  321 

plosion  burst  forth.  Those  among  the  menials  who  still  re- 
mained iu  the  palace  were  for  the  greater  part  occupied 
in  drinking  from  the  vases  of  wine  which  had  been  placed 
before  them,  to  preserve  to  the  last  moment  their  failing 
strength.. 

The  mockery  of  festivity  had  been  extended  even  to  their 
dresses — green  liveries  girt  with  cherry -colored  girdles  ar- 
rayed their  wasted  forms.  They  drank  in  utter  silence. 
Not  the  slightest  appearance  of  revelry  or  intoxication  pre- 
vailed among  their  ranks.  Confusedly  huddled  together, 
as  if  for  mutual  protection,  they  ever  and  anon  cast  quick 
glances  of  suspicion  and  apprehension  upon  some  six  or 
eight  of  the  superior  attendants  of  the  palace,  wljo  walked 
backward  and  forward  at  the  outer  extremity  of  the  hall  oc- 
cupied by  their  comrades,  and  occasionally  advancing  along 
the  straight  passages  before  them  to  the  front  gates  of  the 
building,  appeared  to  be  exchanging  furtive  signals  with 
some  of  the  people  in  the  street.  Reports  had  been  vague- 
ly spread  of  a  secret  conspiracy  between  some  of  the  prin- 
cipal slaves  and  certain  chosen  ruffians  of  the  populace,  to 
murder  all  the  inmates  of  the  palace,  seize  on  its  treasures, 
and,  opening  the  city  gates  to  the  Goths,  escape  with  their 
booty  during  the  confusion  of  the  pillage  of  Rome.  Noth- 
ing had  as  yet  been  positively  discovered ;  but  the  few  at- 
tendants who  kept  ominously  apart  from  the  rest  were 
unanimously  suspected  by  their  fellows,  who  now  watched 
them  over  their  wine-cups  with  anxious  eyes.  Different  as 
was  the  scene  among  the  slaves  still  left  in  the  palace  from 
the  scene  among  the  people  dispersed  in  the  street,  the  one 
was  nevertheless  in  its  own  degree  as  gloomily  suggestive 
of  some  great  impending  calamity  as  the  other. 

The  grand  banqueting-hall  of  the  palace,  prepared  though 
it  now  was  for  festivity,  wore  a  changed  and  melancholy 
aspect. 

The  massive  tables  still  ran  down  the  whole  length  of  the 
noble  room,  surrounded  by  luxurious  couches,  as  in  former 
days;  but  not  a  vestige  of  food  appeared  upon  their  glitter- 
ing surfaces.  Rich  vases,  flasks,  and  drinking-cups,  all  filled 
with  wine,  alone  occupied  the  festal  board.  Above,  hang- 
ing low  from  the  ceiling,  burned  ten  large  lamps,  correspond- 
ing to  the  number  of  guests   assembled,  as  the  only  pro- 

14* 


322  antonina;  oe,  the  fall  op  komk. 

curable  representatives  of  the  hundreds  of  revelers  who  had 
feasted  at  Vetranio's  expense,  during  the  brilliant  nights 
that  were  now  passed  forever.  At  the  lower  end  of  the 
room,  beyond  the  grand  door  of  entrance,  hung  a  thick, 
black  curtain,  apparently  intended  to  conceal,  mysteriously, 
some  object  behind  it.  Before  the  curtain  burned  a  small 
lamp  of  yellow  glass,  raised  upon  a  high  gilt  pole,  and 
around  and  beneath  it,  heaped  against  the  side  walls,  and 
over  part  of  the  table,  lay  a  various  and  confused  mass  of 
rich  objects,  all  of  a  nature  more  or  less  inflammable,  and 
all  besprinkled  with  scented  oils.  Hundreds  of  yards  of 
gorgeously  variegated  hangings,  rolls  upon  rolls  of  manu- 
scripts, gaudy  dresses  of  all  colors,  toys,  utensils,  innumer- 
able articles  of  furniture,  formed  in  rare  and  beautifully  in- 
laid woods,  were  carelessly  flung  together  against  the  walls 
of  the  apartment,  and  rose  high  toward  its  ceiling. 

On  every  part  of  the  tables  not  occupied  by  the  vases  of 
wine  were  laid  gold  and  jeweled  ornaments,  which  dazzled 
the  eye  by  their  brilliancy ;  while,  in  extraordinary  contrast 
to  the  magnificence  thus  profusely  displayed,  there  appeared 
in  one  of  the  upper  corners  of  the  hall  an  old  wooden  stand, 
covered  by  a  coarse  cloth,  on  which  were  placed  one  or  two 
common  earthenware  bowls, containing  what  maybe  termed 
a  "mash"  of  boiled  bran  and  salted  horseflesh.  Any  repul- 
sive odor  which  might  have  arisen  from  this  strange  com- 
pound  was  overpowered  by  the  various  perfumes  sprinkled 
about  the  room,  which,  mingling  with  the  hot  breezes  waft- 
ed through  the  windows  from  the  street,  produced  an  at- 
mosphere as  oppressive  and  debilitating,  in  spite  of  its  arti- 
ficial allurements  to  the  sense  of  smell,  as  the  air  of  a  dun- 
geon or  the  vapors  of  a  marsh. 

Remarkable  as  was  the  change  in  the  present  appearance 
of  the  banqueting-hall,  it  was  but  the  feeble  reflection  of  the 
alteration  for  the  worse  in  the  aspect  of  the  host  and  his 
guests.  Vetranio  reclined  at  the  head  of  the  table,  dressed 
in  a  scarlet  mantle.  An  embroidered  towel,  with  purple 
tassels  and  fringes,  connected  with  rings  of  gold,  fell  over 
his  breast,  and  silver  and  ivory  bracelets  were  clasped  round 
his  arms.  But  of  the  former  man  the  habiliments  were  all 
that  remained.  His  head  was  bent  forward,  as  if  with  the 
weakness  of  age;  his  emaciated  arms  seemed  barely  able  to 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  323 

support  the  weight  of  the  ornaments  which  glittered  on 
them ;  his  eyes  had  contracted  a  wild,  unsettled  expression ; 
and  a  deadly  paleness  overspread  the  once  plump  and  jovial 
cheeks  which  so  many  mistresses  had  kissed,  in  mercenary 
rapture,  in  other  days.  Both  in  countenance  and  manner 
the  elegant  voluptuary  of  our  former  acquaintance  at  the 
Court  of  Ravenna  was  entirely  and  fatally  changed.  Of  the 
other  eight  patricians  who  lay  on  the  couches  around  their 
altered  host — some  wild  and  reckless,  some  gloomy  and  im- 
becile— all  had  suffered  in  the  ordeal  of  the  siege,  the  fam- 
ine, and  the  pestilence,  like  him. 

Such  were  the  members  of  the  assemblage,  represented 
from  the  ceiling  by  nine  of  the  burning  lamps.  The  tenth 
and  last  lamp  indicated  the  presence  of  one  more  guest,  who 
reclined  a  little  apart  from  the  rest. 

This  man  was  humpbacked;  his  gaunt,  bony  features 
were  repulsively  disproportioned  in  size  to  his  puny  frame, 
which  looked  doubly  contemptible,  enveloped  as  it  was  in  an 
ample  tawdry  robe.  Sprung  from  the  lowest  ranks  of  the 
populace,  he  had  gradually  forced  himself  into  the  favor  of 
his  superiors  by  his  skill  in  coarse  mimicry,  and  his  readi- 
ness in  ministering  to  the  worst  vices  of  all  who  would  em- 
ploy him.  Having  lost  the  greater  part  of  his  patrons  dur- 
ing the  siege,  finding  himself  abandoned  to  starvation  on  all 
sides,  he  had  now,  as  a  last  resource,  obtained  permission  to 
participate  in  the  Banquet  of  Famine,  to  enliven  it  by  a  final 
exhibition  of  his  buffoonery,  and  to  die  with  his  masters,  as 
he  had  lived  with  them — the  slave,  the  parasite,  and  the  imi- 
tator of  the  lowest  of  their  vices  and  the  worst  of  their 
crimes. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  orgy,  little  was  audible  be- 
yond the  clash  of  the  wine-cups,  the  low  occasional  whisper- 
ing of  the  revelers,  and  the  confused  voices  of  the  people 
without,  floating  through  the  window  from  the  street.  The 
desperate  compact  of  the  guests,  now  that  its  execution  had 
actually  begun,  awed  them  at  first,  in  spite  of  themselves. 
At  length,  when  there  was  a  lull  of  all  sounds — when  a  tem- 
porary calm  prevailed  over  the  noises  outside — when  the 
wine-cups  were  emptied,  and  left  for  a  moment  ere  they  were 
filled  again — Vetranio  feebly  rose,  and,  announcing  with  a 
mocking  smile  that  he  was  about  to  speak  a  funeral  oration 


324  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  home. 

over  liis  friends  and  himself,  pointed  to  the  wall  immediate- 
ly behind  him,  as  to  an  object  fitted  to  awaken  the  astonish- 
ment or  the  hilarity  of  his  moody  guests. 

Against  the  upper  part  of  the  wall  were  fixed  various 
small  statues  in  bronze  and  marble,  all  representing  the  own- 
er of  the  palace,  and  all  hung  with  golden  plates.  Beneath 
these  appeared  the  rent-roll  of  his  estates,  written  in  vari- 
ous colors,  on  white  vellum ;  and  beneath  that,  scratched  on 
the  marble  in  faint,  irregular  characters,  was  no  less  an  ob- 
ject than  his  own  epitaph,  composed  by  himself.  It  may  be 
translated  thus : 

Stop,  Spectator! 

If  thoa  hast  reverently  cultivated  the  pleasures  of  the  taste, 

pause  amidst  these  illustrious  ruins  of  what  was  once 

a  palace ; 

and  peruse  with  respect,  on  this  stone, 

the  epitaph  of 

VETRANIO,  a  senator. 

He  was  the  first  man  who  invented  a  successful 

Nightingale  Sauce ; 

his  bold  and  creative  genius  added  much,  and  would  have 

added  more,  to 

THE  ART  OF  COOKERY; 

but,  alas  for  the  interests  of  science ! 

he  lived  in  the  days  when  the  Gothic  barbarians  besieged 

THE  IMPERIAL  CITY ; 

famine  left  him  no  matter  for  gustatoiy  experiment ; 

and  pestilence  deprived  him  of  cooks  to  enlighten ! 

Opposed  at  all  points  by  the  force  of  adverse  circumstances, 

finding  his  life  of  no  further  use  to  the  culinary 

interests  of  Rome, 

he  called  his  chosen  friends  together  to  assist  him, 

conscientiously  drank  up  every  drop  of  wine  remaining 

in  his  cellars, 

lit  the  funeral  pile  of  himself  and  his  guests 

in  the  banqueting-hall  of  his  own  palace, 

and  died,  as  he  had  lived, 

the  patriotic  CATO 

of  his  countiy's  gastronomy ! 

"  Behold  "—cried  Vetranio,  pointing  triumphantly  to  the 
epitaph — "  behold  in  every  line  of  those  eloquent  letters  at 
once  the  seal  of  my  resolute  adherence  to  the  engagement 
that  unites  us  here,  and  the  foundation  of  my  just  claim  to 
the  reverence  of  posterity  on  the  most  useful  of  the  arts 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  325 

which  I  exercised  for  the  benefit  of  my  species !  Read — 
friends,  brethren,  fellow-martyrs  of  glory — and,  as  you  read, 
rejoice  with  me  over  the  hour  of  our  departure  from  the  des- 
ecrated arena,  no  longer  worthy  the  celebration  of  the  Games 
of  Life  !  Yet,  ere  the  feast  proceeds,  hear  me  while  I  speak 
— I  make  my  last  oration,  as  the  arbiter  of  our  funeral  sports, 
as  the  host  of  the  Banquet  of  Famine  ! 

"  Who  would  sink  ignobly  beneath  the  slow  superiority 
of  starvation,  or  perish  under  the  quickly-glancing  steel  of 
the  barbarian  conqueror's  sword,  when  such  a  death  as  ours 
is  oftered  to  the  choice? — when  wine  flows  bright,  to  drown 
sensation  in  oblivion,  and  a  palace  and  its  treasures  furnish 
alike  the  scene  of  the  revel  and  the  radiant  funeral  pile? 
The  mighty  philosophers  of  India — the  inspired  Gymnoso- 
phists — died  as  we  shall  die !  Calanus  before  Alexander, 
Zamarus  in  the  presence  of  Augustus,  lit  the  fires  that  con- 
sumed them  !  Let  us  follow  their  glorious  example !  No 
worms  will  prey  upon  our  bodies,  no  hired  mourners  will 
howl  discordant  at  our  funerals  !  Purified  in  the  radiance 
of  primeval  fire,  we  shall  vanish  triumphant  from  enemies 
and  friends — a  marvel  to  the  earth,  a  vision  of  glory  to  the 
gods  themselves ! 

"  Is  it  a  day  more  or  a  day  less  of  life  that  is  now  of  im- 
portance to  us  ?  No  ;  it  is  only  toward  the  easiest  and  the 
noblest  death  that  our  aspirations  can  turn  !  Among  our 
number,  there  is  now  not  one  whom  the  care  of  existence 
can  further  occupy  ! 

"  Here,  at  my  i-ight  hand,  reclines  my  estimable  comrade 
of  a  thousand  former  feasts,  Furius-Balburius-Placidus,  who, 
when  we  sailed  on  the  Lucrine  Lake,  was  wont  to  complain 
of  intolerable  hardship  if  a  fly  settled  on  the  gilded  folds  of 
his  umbrella;  who  languished  for  a  land  of  Cimmerian  dark- 
ness if  a  sunbeam  penetrated  the  silken  awnings  of  his  gar- 
den terrace ;  and  who  now  wrangles  for  a  mouthful  of  horse- 
flesh with  the  meanest  of  his  slaves,  and  would  exchange 
the  richest  of  his  country  villas  for  a  basket  of  dirty  bread  ! 
Oh,  Furius-Balburius-Placidus,  of  what  further  use  is  life  to 
thee? 

"There,  at  my  left,  I  discern  the  changed  though  still 
expressive  countenance  of  the  resolute  Thascius  —  he  who 
chastised  a  slave  with  a  hundred  lashes  if  his  warm  water 


326  antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome. 

was  not  brought  immediately  at  his  command;  he  whose 
serene  contempt  for  every  member  of  the  human  species 
but  himself  once  ranked  him  among  the  greatest  of  human 
philosophers;  even  he  now  wanders  through  his  palace  un- 
served, and  fawns  upon  the  plebeian  who  will  sell  liim  a 
measure  of  wretched  bran  !  Oh,  admired  friend,  oh,  rightly- 
reasoning  Thascius,  say,  is  there  any  thing  in  Rome  which 
should  delay  thee  on  thy  journey  to  the  Elysian  Fields? 

"Farther  onward  at  the  table,  drinking  largely  while  I 
speak,  I  behold,  oh,  Marcus  -  Moecius-Moemmius,  thy  once 
plump  and  jovial  form ! — thou,  in  former  days  accustomed 
to  rejoice  in  the  length  of  thy  name,  because  it  enabled  thy 
friends  to  drink  the  more  in  drinking  a  cup  to  each  letter 
of  it,  tell  me  what  banqueting-hall  is  now  open  to  thee  but 
this? — and  thus  desolate  in  the  city  of  thy  social  triumphs, 
what  should  disincline  thee  to  make  of  our  festal  solemnity 
thy  last  revel  on  earth  ? 

"Thou,  too,  facetious  hunchback,  prince  of  parasites,  un- 
scrupulous Reburrus,  where,  but  at  this  Banquet  of  Famine, 
will  thy  buffoonery  now  procure  for  thee  a  draught  of  re- 
viving wine?  Thy  masters  have  abandoned  thee  to  thy 
native  dunghill !  No  more  shalt  thou  wheedle  for  them 
when  they  borrow,  or  bully  for  them  when  they  pay !  No 
more  charges  of  poisoning  or  magic  shalt  thou  forge  to  im- 
prison their  troublesome  creditors  I  Oh,  officious  sycophant, 
thy  occupations  are  no  more  !  Drink  while  thou  canst,  and 
then  resign  thy  carcass  to  congenial  mire! 

"And  you,  my  five  remaining  friends,  whom  —  little  de- 
sirous of  further  delay — I  will  collectively  address,  think 
on  the  days  when  the  suspicion  of  an  infectious  malady 
in  any  one  of  your  companions  was  sufficient  to  separate 
you  from  the  dearest  of  them ;  when  the  slaves  who  came 
to  you  from  their  palaces  underwent  long  ceremonies  of 
ablution  before  they  approached  your  presence;  and  re- 
membering this,  reflect  that  most,  perhaps  all  of  us,  now 
meet  here  plague-tainted  already ;  and  then  say,  of  what 
advantage  is  it  to  languish  for  a  life  which  is  yours  no 
longer? 

"No,  my  friends,  my  brethren  of  the  banquet;  feeling 
that  when  life  is  worthless  it  is  folly  to  live,  you  can  not 
shrink  from  the  lofty  resolution  by  which  we  are  bound, 


ANTONlTfA;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROMB.  327 

you  can  not  pause  on  our  joyful  journey  of  departure  from 
the  scenes  of  earth — I  wrong  you  even  by  a  doubt !  Let 
me  now,  rather,  ask  your  attention  for  a  worthier  subjegt 
— the  enumeration  of  the  festal  ceremonies  by  which  the 
progress  of  the  banquet  will  be  marked.  That  task  con- 
cluded, that  last  ceremony  of  ray  last  welcome  to  you 
in  these  halls  duly  performed,  I  join  you  once  more  in 
your  final  homage  to  the  deity  of  our  social  lives — the  god 
of  Wine ! 

"It  is  not  unknown  to  you — learned  as  you  are  in  the  jo- 
vial antiquities  of  the  table — that  it  was,  among  some  of  the 
ancients,  a  custom  for  a  master-spirit  of  philosophy  to  pre- 
side— the  teacher  as  well  as  the  guest — at  their  feasts.  This 
usage  it  has  been  my  care  to  revive ;  and,  as  this  our  meet- 
ing is  unparalleled  in  its  heroic  design,  so  it  was  my  ambi- 
tion to  bid  to  it  one  unparalleled,  either  as  a  teacher  or  a 
guest.  Fired  by  an  original  idea,  unobserved  of  my  slaves, 
aided  only  by  my  singing-boy,  the  faithful  Glyco,  I  have  suc- 
ceeded in  placing  behind  that  black  curtain  such  an  associate 
of  our  revels  as  you  have  never  feasted  with  before — whose 
appearance  at  the  fitting  moment  must  strike  you  irresisti- 
bly with  astonishment;  and  whose  discourse — not  of  human 
wisdom  only — will  be  inspired  by  the  midnight  secrets  of 
the  tomb.  By  my  side,  on  this  parchment,  lies  the  formu- 
lary of  questions  to  be  addressed  by  Reburrus,  when  the 
curtain  is  withdrawn,  to  the  Oracle  of  the  Mysteries  of  other 
Spheres. 

"  Before  you,  behold  in  those  vases  all  that  remains  of  my 
once  well-stocked  cellars ;  and  all  that  is  provided  for  the 
palates  of  my  guests !  "We  sit  at  the  Banquet  of  Famine, 
and  no  coarser  sustenance  than  inspiring  wine  finds  admit- 
tance at  the  Bacchanalian  board.  Yet,  should  any  among 
us,  in  his  last  moments,  be  feeble  enough  to  pollute  his  lips 
with  nourishment  alone  worthy  of  the  vermin  of  the  earth, 
let  him  seek  the  wretched  and  scanty  table,  type  of  the 
wretched  and  scanty  food  that  covers  it,  placed  yonder,  in 
obscurity,  behind  me.  There  will  he  find  (in  all  barely  suf- 
ficient for  one  man's  poorest  meal)  the  last  morsels  of  the 
vilest  nourishment  left  in  the  palace.  For  me,  my  resolution 
is  fixed — it  is  only  the  generous  wine-cup  that  shall  now  ap- 
proach my  lips ! 


328  ANTOXINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL    OF   KOME. 

"Above  me  are  the  ten  lamps,  answering  to  tlie  number 
of  my  friends  here  assembled.  One  after  another,  as  the 
wne  overpowers  us,  those  burning  images  of  life  will  be  ex- 
tinguished in  succession  by  the  guests  who  remain  proof 
against  our  draughts;  and  the  last  of  these,  lighting  this 
torch  at  the  last  lamp,  will  consummate  the  banquet,  and 
celebrate  its  glorious  close,  by  firing  the  funeral  pile  of  my 
treasures,  heaped  yonder  against  my  palace  walls !  If  my 
powers  fail  me  before  yours^  swear  to  me  that  whoever 
among  you  is  able  to  lift  the  cup  to  his  lips,  after  it  has 
dropped  from  the  hands  of  the  rest,  will  fire  the  pile  !  Swear 
it  by  your  lost  mistresses,  your  lost  friends,  your  lost  treas- 
ures ! — by  your  own  lives,  devoted  to  the  pleasures  of  wine 
and  the  purification  of  tire  !" 

As,  with  flashing  eyes  and  flushed  countenance,  Vetranio 
sank  back  on  his  couch,  his  companions,  inflamed  with  the 
wine  they  had  already  drunk,  arose,  cup  in  hand,  and  turned 
toward  him.  Their  voices,  discordantly  mingled,  pronoun- 
ced the  oath  together — then,  as  they  resumed  their  former 
positions,  their  eyes  all  turned  toward  the  black  curtain  in 
ardent  expectation. 

They  had  observed  the  sinister  and  sarcastic  expression 
of  Vetranio's  eye,  as  he  spoke  of  his  concealed  guest ;  they 
knew  that  the  hunchback  Reburrus  possessed,  among  his 
other  powers  of  buff'oonery,  the  ai*t  of  ventriloquism ;  and 
they  suspected  the  presence  of  some  hideous  or  grotesque 
image  of  a  heathen  god  or  demon  in  the  hidden  recess,  which 
the  jugglery  of  the  parasite  was  to  gift  with  the  capacity  of 
speech.  Blasphemous  comments  upon  life,  death,  and  im- 
mortality were  eagerly  awaited.  The  general  impatience 
for  the  withdrawal  of  the  curtain  was  perceived  by  Vetra- 
nio, who,  waving  his  hand  for  silence,  authoritatively  ex- 
claimed: "The  hour  has  not  yet  arrived  —  more  draughts 
must  be  drunk,  more  libations  poured  out,  ere  the  mystery 
of  the  curtain  is  revealed!  Ho!  Glyco  !"  —  he  continued, 
turning  toward  the  singing -boy,  who  had  silently  entered 
the  room  —  "  the  moment  is  yours !  Tune  your  lyre,  and 
recite  my  last  ode,  which  I  have  addressed  to  yon  !  Let  the 
charms  of  Poetry  preside  over  the  feast  of  Death  !" 

The  boy  advanced  trembling:  his  once  ruddy  face  was 
colorless  and  haggard ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  look  of 


ANTONINA;  ok,  the  fall  of  ROME.        329 

rigid  terror  on  the  black  curtain ;  his  features  palpably  ex- 
pressed the  presence  within  him  of  some  secret  and  over- 
whelming recollection,  which  had  crushed  all  his  other  fac- 
ulties and  perceptions.  Steadily,  almost  guiltily,  averting 
his  face  from  his  master's  countenance,  he  stood  by  Vetra- 
nio's  couch,  a  frail  and  fallen  being,  a  mournful  spectacle  of 
perverted  docility  and  degraded  youth. 

Still  true,  however,  to  the  duties  of  his  vocation,  he  ran 
his  thin,  trembling  fingers  over  the  lyre,  and  mechanically 
preluded  the  commencement  of  the  ode.  But  dui-ing  the  si- 
lence of  attention  which  now  prevailed,  the  confused  noises 
from  the  people  in  the  street  penetrated  more  distinctly  into 
the  banqueting-room  ;  and  at  this  moment,  high  above  them 
all — hoarse,  raving,  terrible — rose  the  voice  of  one  man. 

"  Tell  me  not,"  it  cried,  "  of  perfumes  wafted  from  the  pal- 
ace—  foul  vapors  flow  from  it!  —  see,  they  sink,  suffocating 
over  me  ! — they  bathe  sky  and  earth,  and  men  who  move 
around  us,  in  fierce,  green  light !" 

Then  other  voices  of  men  and  women,  shrill  and  savage, 
broke  forth  in  interruption  together — "Peace,  Davus  !  you 
awake  the  dead  about  you!"  "Hide  in  the  darkness;  you 
are  plague-struck ;  your  skin  is  shriveled ;  your  gums  are 
toothless!"  "When  the  palace  is  fired,  you  shall  be  flung 
into  the  flames  to  purify  your  rotten  carcass  I" 

"  Sing  !"  cried  Vetranio,  furiously,  observing  the  shudders 
that  ran  over  the  boy's  frame  and  held  him  speechless. 
"  Strike  the  lyre,  as  Timotheus  struck  it  before  Alexander ! 
Drown  in  melody  the  barking  of  the  curs  who  wait  for  our 
oftal  in  the  street !" 

Feebly  and  interruptedly  the  terrified  boy  began,  the 
wild  continuous  noises  of  the  moaning  voices  from  without 
sounding  their  awful  accompaniment  to  the  infidel  philos- 
ophy of  his  song,  as  he  breathed  it  forth  in  faint  and  falter- 
ing accents.     It  ran  thus  : 

TO  GLYCO. 

Ah,  Glyco !  why  in  flow'rs  anay'd ? 
Those  festive  wreaths  less  quickly  fade 

Than  briefly-blooming  joy ! 
Those  high-prized  friends  who  share  your  mirth 
Are  counterfeits  of  brittle  eartli^ 

False  eoin'd  in  Death's  ailov  : 


330  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL    OF   KOME. 

The  bliss  your  notes  could  once  inspire, 
When  lightly  o'er  the  godlike  lyre 

Your  nimble  fingers  pass'd, 
Shall  spring  the  same  from  others'  skill — 
When  you're  forgot,  the  music  still 

The  player  shall  outlast ! 

The  sun-touch'd  cloud  that  mounts  the  sl^, 
That  brightly  glows  to  warm  the  eye, 

Then  fades  we  know  not  where. 
Is  image  of  the  little  breath 
Of  life — and  then,  the  doom  of  Death 

That  you  and  I  must  share ! 

Helpless  to  make  or  mar  our  birth, 
We  blindly  grope  the  ways  of  earth. 

And  live  our  paltry  hour ; 
Sure,  that  when  life  has  ceased  to  please, 
To  die  at  will,  in  Stoic  ease. 

Is  yielded  to  our  pow'r ! 

Who,  timely  wise,  would  meanly  wait 
The  dull  delay  of  tardy  Fate, 

When  Life's  delights  are  shorn  ? 
No !     When  its  outer  gloss  has  flown. 
Let's  fling  the  tainish'd  bauble  down 

As  lightly  as  'twas  worn  ! 

"A  health  to  Glyco !  A  deep  draught  to  a  singer  from 
heaven  come  down  upon  earth  !"  cried  the  guests,  seizing 
their  wine-cups  as  the  ode  was  concluded,  and  draining  them 
to  the  last  drop.  But  their  drunken  applause  fell  noiseless 
upon  the  ear  to  which  it  was  addressed.  The  boy's  voice,  as 
he  sang  the  final  stanza  of  the  ode,  had  suddenly  changed  to 
a  shrill,  almost  an  unearthly  tone,  then  suddenly  sank  again 
as  he  breathed  forth  the  last  few  notes ;  and  now,  as  his  dis- 
solute audience  turned  toward  him  with  approving  glances, 
they  saw  him  standing  before  them  cold,  rigid,  and  voiceless. 
The  next  instant  his  fixed  features  were  suddenly  distorted ; 
his  whole  frame  collapsed,  as  if  torn  by  an  internal  spasm — 
he  fell  back  heavily  to  the  floor.  Those  around  approached 
him  with  unsteady  feet,  and  raised  him  in  their  arms.  His 
soul  had  burst  the  bonds  of  vice  in  which  others  had  entan- 
gled it ;  the  voice  of  Death  had  whispered  to  the  slave  of 
the  great  despot.  Crime — "  Be  free  !" 

"  We  have  heard  the  note  of  the  swan  singing  its  own  fu- 
neral hymn  !"  said  the  patrician  Placidus,  looking  in  maud- 


ANTONINA ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         331 

lin  pity  from  the  corpse  of  the  boy  to  the  face  of  Vetranio, 
which  presented,  for  the  moment,  an  involuntary  expression 
of  grief  and  remorse. 

"  Our  miracle  of  beauty,  and  boy-god  of  melody,  has  de- 
parted before  us  to  the  Elysian  Fields  !"  muttered  the  hunch- 
back Reburrus,  in  harsh,  sarcastic  accents. 

Then,  during  the  short  silence  that  ensued,  the  voices  from 
the  street — joined  on  this  occasion  to  a  noise  of  approaching 
footsteps  on  the  pavement — became  again  distinctly  audible 
in  the  banqueting-hall.  "News!  news!"  cried  these  fresh 
auxiliaries  of  the  horde  already  assembled  before  the  palace. 
"Keep  together,  you  who  still  care  for  your  lives !  Solitary 
citizens  have  been  lured  by  strange  men  into  desolate  streets, 
and  never  seen  again !  Jars  of  newly-salted  flesh,  which 
there  were  no  beasts  left  in  the  city  to  supply,  have  been 
found  in  a  butcher's  shop !  Keep  together !  Keep  togeth- 
er !" 

"No  cannibals  among  the  mob  shall  pollute  the  body  of 
my  poor  boy !"  cried  Vetranio,  rousing  himself  from  his 
short  lethargy  of  grief,  "Ho!  Thascius  !  Marcus!  you  who 
can  yet  stand !  let  us  bear  him  to  the  funeral  pile !  He  has 
died  first — his  ashes  shall  be  first  consumed !" 

The  two  patricians  arose  as  the  senator  spoke,  and  aided 
him  in  carrying  the  body  to  the  lower  end  of  the  room, 
where  it  was  laid  across  the  table,  beneath  the  black  curtain, 
and  between  the  heaps  of  drapery  and  furniture  piled  up 
against  each  of  the  walls.  Then,  as  his  guests  reeled  back 
to  their  places,  Vetranio,  remaining  by  the  side  of  the  corpse, 
and  seizing  in  his  unsteady  hands  a  small  vase  of  wine,  ex- 
claimed, in  tones  of  fierce  exultation,  "  The  hour  has  come — 
the  banquet  of  Famine  has  ended — the  banquet  of  Death  has 
begun  !  A  health  to  the  guest  behind  the  curtain  !  Fill — 
drink— behold  !" 

He  drank  deeply  from  the  vase  as  he  ceased,  and  drew 
aside  the  black  drapery  above  him.  A  cry  of  terror  and  as- 
tonishment burst  from  the  intoxicated  guests,  as  they  beheld 
in  the  recess  now  disclosed  to  view  the  corpse  of  an  aged 
woman,  clothed  in  white,  and  propped  up  on  a  high  black 
throne,  with  the  face  turned  toward  them,  and  the  arms  (ar- 
tificially supported)  stretched  out  as  if  in  denunciation  over 
t^he  banqueting -table.     The   lamp   of  yellow   glass   which 


332  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  EOME. 

burned  high  above  the  body  threw  over  it  a  Inrid  and  flick- 
ering light — the  eyes  were  open,  the  jaw  had  fallen,  the  long, 
gray  tresses  drooped  heavily  on  either  side  of  the  white,  hol- 
low cheeks. 

"  Behold  !" — cried  Vetranio,  pointing  to  the  corpse — "  be- 
hold my  secret  guest !  Who  so  fit  as  the  dead  to  preside  at 
the  banquet  of  death  ?  Compelling  the  aid  of  Glyco,  shroud- 
ed by  congenial  night,  seizing  on  the  first  corpse  exposed  be- 
fore me  in  the  street,!  have  set  up  there,  unsuspected  by  all, 
the  proper  idol  of  our  worship,  and  philosopher  at  our  feast! 
Another  health  to  the  queen  of  the  fatal  revels — to  the  teach- 
er of  the  mysteries  of  worlds  unseen ;  rescued  from  rotting 
uuburied,  to  perish  in  the  consecrated  flames  with  the  sena- 
tors of  Rome !  A  health  ! — a  health  to  the  mighty  mother, 
ere  she  begin  the  mystic  revelations!     Fill — drink!" 

Fired  by  their  host's  example,  recovered  from  tlieir  mo- 
mentary awe,  already  inflamed  by  the  mad  recklessness  of 
debauchery,  the  guests  started  from  their  couches,  and  with 
Bacchanalian  shouts  answered  Vetranio's  challenge.  The 
scene  at  this  moment  approached  the  supernatural.  The 
wild  disorder  of  the  richly -laden  tables;  the  wine  flowing 
over  the  floor  from  overthrown  vases ;  the  great  lamps 
burning  bright  and  steady  over  the  confusion  beneath ;  the 
fierce  gestures,  the  disordered  countenances  of  the  revelers, 
as  they  waved  their  jeweled  cups  over  their  heads  in  frantic 
triumph;  and  then  the  gloomy  and  terrific  prospect  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  hall — the  black  curtain,  the  light  burning 
solitary  on  its  high  pole,  the  dead  boy  lying  across  the  fes- 
tal table,  the  living  master  standing  by  his  side,  and,  like 
an  evil  spirit,  pointing  upward  in  mockery  to  the  white- 
robed  corpse  of  the  woman  as  it  towered  above  all  in  its 
unnatural  position,  with  its  skinny  arms  stretched  forth, 
with  its  ghastly  features  appearing  to  move  as  the  fivint  and 
flickering  light  played  over  them — produced  together  such 
a  combination  of  scarce  earthly  objects  as  might  be  paint- 
ed, but  can  not  be  described.  It  was  an  embodiment  of  a 
sorcerer's  vision — an  apocalypse  of  sin  triumphing  over  the 
world's  last  relics  of  mortality  in  the  vaults  of  death. 

"To  your  task,  Reburrus !"  cried  Vetranio,  when  the  tu- 
mult was  lulled;  "to  your  questions  without  delay!  Be- 
hold the  teacher  with  whom  you  are  to  hold  commune ! 


ANTOXINA  ;  OK,  THE  FALL  OF  EOME.         333 

Peruse  carefully  the  parchment  in  your  hand — question,  and 
question  loudly — you  speak  to  the  apathetic  dead  !" 

For  some  time  before  the  disclosure  of  the  corpse,  the 
hunchback  had  been  seated  apart  at  the  end  of  the  ban- 
queting-hall  opposite  the  black -curtained  recess,  conning 
over  the  manuscript  containing  the  list  of  questions  and  an- 
swers which  formed  the  impious  dialogue  he  was  to  hold, 
by  the  aid  of  his  powers  of  ventriloquistn,  with  the  violated 
dead.  When  the  curtain  was  withdrawn  he  had  looked  up 
for  a  moment,  and  had  greeted  the  appearance  of  the  sight 
behind  it  with  a  laugh  of  brutal  derision,  returning  immedi- 
ately to  the  study  of  his  blasphemous  formulary  which  had 
been  confided  to  his  care.  At  the  moment  when  Vetranio's 
commands  were  addressed  to  him,  he  arose,  reeled  down 
the  apartment  toward  the  corpse,  and,  opening  the  dialogue 
as  he  approached  it,  began  in  loud,  jeering  tones,  "Speak, 
miserable  relict  of  decrepit  mortality  !" 

He  paused  as  he  uttered  the  last  word ;  and,  gaining  a 
point  of  view  from  which  the  light  of  the  lamp  fell  full 
upon  the  solemn  and  stony  features  of  the  corpse,  looked 
up  defiantly  at  it.  In  an  instant  a  frightful  change  passed 
over  him,  the  manuscript  dropped  from  his  hand,  his  de- 
formed frame  shrank  and  tottered,  a  shrill  cry  of  recognition 
burst  from  his  lips,  more  like  the  yell  of  a  wild  beast  than 
the  voice  of  a  man. 

The  next  moment — when  the  guests  started  up  to  ques- 
tion or  deride  him — he  turned  slowly  and  faced  them.  Des- 
perate and  drunken  as  they  were,  his  look  awed  them  into 
utter  silence.  His  face  was  death-like  in  hue,  as  the  face  of 
the  corpse  above  him — thick  drops  of  perspiration  trickled 
down  it  like  rain  —  his  dry,  glaring  eyes  wandered  fiercely 
over  the  startled  countenances  before  him ;  and  as  he  ex- 
tended toward  them  his  clenched  hands,  he  muttered  in  a 
deep,  gasping  whisper,  "  Who  has  done  this  ?  My  Moth- 
er !     My  Mother  !" 

As  these  few  words  —  of  awful  import,  though  of  simple 
form — fell  upon  the  ears  of  those  whom  he  addressed,  such 
of  them  as  were  not  already  sunk  in  insensibility  looked 
round  on  each  other  almost  sobered  for  the  moment,  and  all 
speechless  alike.  Not  even  the  clash  of  the  wine-cups  was 
now  heard  at  the  banqueting-table  —  nothing  was  audible 


334         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  ROME. 

but  the  sound,  still  fitfully  rising  and  falling,  of  the  voices 
of  terror,  ribaldry,  and  anguish  from  the  street;  and  the 
hoarse,  convulsive  accents  of  the  hunchback,  still  uttering 
at  intervals  his  fearful  identification  of  the  dead  body  above 
him — "  My  Mother  !     My  Mother  !" 

At  length  Vetranio,  who  was  the  first  to  recover  himself, 
addressed  the  terrified  and  degraded  wretch  before  him,  in 
tones  which,  in  spite  of  himself,  betrayed  as  he  began  an 
unwonted  treraulousness  and  restraint.  "What,  ReburrusI" 
he  cried,  "  are  you  already  drunken  to  insanity,  that  you 
call  the  first  dead  body  which  by  chance  I  encountered  in 
the  street,  and  by  chance  brought  hither — your  mother? 
Was  it  to  talk  of  your  mother,  whom  dead  or  alive  we 
neither  know  nor  care  for,  that  you  were  admitted  here? 
Son  of  obscurity  and  inheritor  of  rags,  what  are  your  ple- 
beian parents  to  us !"  he  continued,  refilling  his  cup,  and 
lashing  himself  into  assumed  anger  as  he  spoke.  "To  your 
dialogue  without  delay !  or  you  shall  be  flung  from  the 
windows  to  mingle  with  your  rabble-equals  in  the  street !" 

Neither  by  word  nor  look  did  the  hunchback  answer  the 
senator's  menaces.  For  him^  the  voice  of  the  living  was 
stifled  in  the  presence  of  the  dead.  The  retribution  that 
had  gone  forth  against  him  had  struck  his  moral,  as  a  thun- 
der-bolt might  have  stricken  his  physical,  being.  His  soul 
strove  in  agony  within  him  as  he  thought  on  the  awful  fa- 
tality which  had  set  the  dead  mother  in  judgment  on  the 
degraded  son — which  had  directed  the  hand  of  the  senator 
unwittingly  to  select  the  corpse  of  the  outraged  parent,  as 
the  object  for  the  infidel  bufibonery  of  the  reckless  child,  at 
the  very  close  of  his  impious  career.  His  past  life  rose  be- 
fore him,  for  the  first  time,  like  a  foul  vision — like  a  night- 
mare of  horror,  impurity,  and  crime.  He  staggered  up  the 
room,  groping  his  way  along  the  wall,  as  if  the  darkness 
of  midnight  had  closed  around  his  eyes  and  crouched  down 
by  the  open  window.  Beneath  him  rose  the  evil  and  omi- 
nous voices  from  the  street ;  around  him  spread  the  pitiless 
array  of  his  masters ;  before  him  appeared  the  denouncing 
vision  of  the  corpse. 

He  would  have  remained  but  a  short  time  unmolested  in 
his  place  of  refuge,  but  for  an  event  which  now  diverted 
from  him  the  attention  of  Vetranio  and  his  guests.     Drink- 


AKTOKINA ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   BOMB.  335 

ing  furiously  to  drown  all  recollection  of  the  catastrophe 
they  had  just  witnessed,  three  of  the  revelers  had  already 
suffered  the  worst  consequences  of  an  excess  which  their 
weakened  frames  were  ill  fitted  to  bear.  One  after  another, 
at  short  intervals,  they  fell  back  senseless  on  their  couches ; 
and  one  after  another,  as  they  succumbed,  the  three  lamps 
burning  nearest  to  them  were  extinguished.  The  same 
speedy  termination  to  the  debauch  seemed  to  be  in  reserve 
for  the  rest  of  their  companions,  with  the  exception  of  Ve- 
tranio  and  the  two  patricians  who  reclined  at  his  right  hand 
and  his  left.  These  three  still  preserved  the  appearance  of 
self-possession;  but  an  ominous  change  had  already  over- 
spread their  countenances.  The  expression  of  wild  joviality, 
of  fierce  recklessness,  had  departed  from  their  wild  features 
— they  silently  watched  each  other  with  vigilant  and  sus- 
picious eyes — each,  in  turn,  as  he  filled  his  wine-cup,  signifi- 
cantly handled  the  torch  with  which  the  last  drinker  was 
to  fire  the  funeral  pile.  As  the  numbers  of  their  rivals  de- 
creased, and  the  flame  of  lamp  after  lamp  was  extinguished, 
the  fatal  contest  for  a  suicide  supremacy  assumed  a  present 
and  powerful  interest,  in  which  all  other  purposes  and  ob- 
jects were  forgotten.  The  corpse  at  the  foot  of  the  ban- 
queting-table,  and  the  wretch  cowering  in  his  misery  at  the 
window,  were  now  alike  unheeded.  In  the  bewildered  and 
brutalized  minds  of  the  guests  one  sensation  alone  remained 
— the  intensity  of  expectation  which  precedes  the  result  of 
a  deadly  strife. 

But  ere  long  —  awakening  the  attention  which  might 
otherwise  never  have  been  aroused — the  voice  of  the  hunch- 
back was  heard,  as  the  spirit  of  repentance  now  moved 
within  him,  uttering,  in  wild,  moaning  tones  a  strange  con- 
fession of  degradation  and  sin — addressed  to  none;  proceed- 
ing, independent  of  consciousness  or  will,  from  the  depths 
of  his  stricken  soul.  He  half  raised  himself;  and  fixed  his 
sunken  eyes  upon  the  dead  body,  as  these  words  dropped 
from  his  lips:  "It  was  the  last  time  that  I  beheld  her 
alive,  when  she  approached  me — lonely,  and  feeble,  and 
poor — in  the  street;  beseeching  me  to  return  to  her  in  the 
days  of  her  old  age  and  her  solitude  ;  and  to  remember  how 
she  had  loved  me  in  my  childhood  for  my  very  deformi- 
ty, how  she  had  watched  me  throughout  the  highways  of 


336  AJiTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALI.   OP    ROME. 

Rome,  that  none  should  oppress  or  deride  me  I  the  tears 
ran  down  her  cheeks ;  she  knelt  to  me  on  the  hard  pave- 
ment !  and  I,  who  had  deserted  her  for  her  poverty,  to 
make  myself  a  slave  in  palaces  among  the  accursed  rich, 
flung  down  money  to  her,  as  to  a  beggar  who  wearied  me, 
and  passed  on  !  She  died  desolate  !  her  body  lay  unburied, 
and  I  knew  it  not !  The  son  who  had  abandoned  the  moth- 
er never  saw  her  more,  until  she  rose  before  him  there  — 
avenging,  horrible,  lifeless !  a  sight  of  death  never  to  leave 
him  !  Woe,  woe  to  the  accursed  in  his  deformity,  and  the 
accursed  of  his  mother's  corpse  !" 

He  paused,  and  fell  back  again  to  the  ground,  groveling 
and  speechless.  The  tyrannic  Thascius,  regarding  him  with 
a  scowl  of  drunken  wrath,  seized  an  empty  vase,  and  poising 
it  in  his  unsteady  hand,  prepared  to  hurl  it  at  the  hunch- 
back's prostrate  form,  when  again  a  single  cry — a  woman's 
— rising  above  the  increasing  uproar  in  the  street,  rang  shrill 
and  startling  through  the  banqueting-hall.  The  patrician 
suspended  his  purpose  as  he  heard  it,  mechanically  listening 
with  the  half-stupid,  half-cunning  attention  of  intoxication. 
"Help!  help!"  shrieked  the  voice  beneath  the  palace  win- 
dows, "he  follows  me  still — he  attacked  mj^  dead  child  in 
my  arms!  As  I  flung  myself  down  upon  it  on  the  ground, 
I  saw  him  watching  his  opportunity  to  drag  it  by  the  limbs 
from  under  me;  famine  and  madness  were  in  his  eyes — I 
drove  him  back — I  fled — he  follows  me  still ! — save  us,  save 
us!" 

At  this  instant  her  voice  was  suddenly  stifled  in  the  sound 
of  fierce  cries  and  rushing  footsteps,  followed  by  an  appalling 
noise  of  heavy  blows,  directed  at  several  points,  against  the 
steel  railings  before  the  palace  doors.  Between  the  blows, 
which  fell  slowly  and  together  at  regular  intervals,  the  in- 
furiated wretches,  whose  last  exertions  of  strength  were 
strained  to  the  utmost  to  deal  them,  could  be  heard  shout- 
ing breathlessly  to  each  other,  "  Strike  harder,  strike  longer ! 
the  back  gates  are  guarded  against  us  by  our  comrades  ad- 
mitted to  the  pillage  of  the  palace  instead  of  us.  You  who 
would  share  the  booty,  strike  firm  !  the  stones  are  at  your 
feet,  the  gates  of  entrance  yield  before  you." 

Meanwhile  a  confused  sound  of  trampling  footsteps  and 
contending  voices  became  audible  from  the  lower  apartments 


AXTOXINA;  or,  the  fall  of  ROME.  337 

of  the  palace.  Doors  were  violently  shut  and  opened — 
shouts  and  execrations  echoed  and  re-echoed  along  the  lofty 
stone  passages  leading  from  the  slaves'  waiting-rooms  to  the 
grand  stair-case ;  treachery  betrayed  itself  as  openly  within 
the  building,  as  violence  still  proclaimed  itself  in  the  assault 
on  the  gates  outside.  The  chief  slaves  had  not  been  sus- 
pected by  their  fellows  without  a  cause ;  the  bands  of  pil- 
lage and  murder  had  been  organized  in  the  house  of  de- 
bauchery  and  death ;  the  chosen  adherents  from  the  street 
had  been  secretly  admitted  through  the  garden  gates,  and 
had  barred  and  guarded  them  against  further  intrusion — 
another  doom  than  the  doom  they  had  impiously  prepared 
for  themselves  was  approaching  the  devoted  senators,  at  the 
hands  of  the  slaves  whom  they  had  oppressed,  and  the  ple- 
beians whom  they  had  despised. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  assault  without  and  the  first  in- 
timation of  the  treachery  within,  Vetranio,  Thascius,  and 
Marcus  started  from  their  couches — the  remainder  of  the 
guests,  incapable  either  of  thought  or  action,  lay,  in  stupid 
insensibility,  awaiting  their  fate.  These  three  men  alone 
comprehended  the  peril  that  threatened  them  ;  and,  madden- 
ed with  drink,  defied,  in  their  ferocious  desperation,  the  death 
that  was  in  store  for  them.  "  Hark !  •  they  approach,  the 
rabble  revolted  from  our  rule,"  cried  Vetranio,  scornfully, 
"  to  take  the  lives  that  we  despise  and  the  treasures  that  we 
have  resigned!  The  hour  has  come;  I  go  to  fire  the  pile 
that  involves  in  one  common  destruction  our  assassins  and 
ourselves !" 

"  Hold !"  exclaimed  Thascius,  snatching  the  torch  from 
his  hand, "  the  entrance  must  first  be  defended,  or,  ere  the 
flames  are  kindled,  the  slaves  will  be  here !  Whatever  is 
movable  —  couches,  tables,  corpses — let  us  hurl  them  all 
against  the  door !" 

As  he  spoke  he  rushed  toward  the  black-curtained  recess, 
to  set  the  example  to  his  companions  by  seizing  the  corpse 
of  the  woman ;  but  he  had  not  passed  more  than  half  the 
length  of  the  apartment,  when  the  hunchback,  who  had  fol- 
lowed him  unheeded,  sprang  upon  him  from  behind,  and, 
with  a  shrill  cry,  fastening  his  fingers  on  his  throat,  hurled 
him,  torn  and  senseless,  to  the  floor.  "  Who  touches  the  body 
that  is  mine?"  shrieked  the  deformed  wretch,  rising  from  his 

15 


338  antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  Rome. 

victim,  and  threatening  with  his  blood-stained  hands  Ye- 
tranio  and  Marcus,  as  they  stood  bewildered,  and  uncertain 
for  the  moment  whether  first  to  avenge  their  comrade  or  to 
barricade  the  door.  "  The  son  shall  rescue  the  mother !  I 
go  to  bury  her !     Atonement !     Atonement !" 

He  leaped  upon  the  table  as  he  spoke,  tore  asunder  with 
resistless  strength  the  cords  which  fastened  the  corpse  to 
the  throne,  seized  it  in  his  arras,  and  the  next  instant  gained 
the  door.  Uttering  fierce,  inarticulate  cries,  partly  of  an- 
guish and  partly  of  defiance,  he  threw  it  open,  and  stepped 
forward  to  descend,  when  he  was  met  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  by  the  band  of  assassins  hurrying  up,  with  drawn 
swords  and  blazing  torches,  to  their  work  of  pillage  and 
death.  He  stood  before  them — his  deformed  limbs  set  as 
firmly  on  the  ground  as  if  he  were  preparing  to  descend  the 
stairs  at  one  leap — with  the  corpse  raised  high  on  his  breast ; 
its  unearthly  features  were  turned  toward  them,  its  bare 
arms  were  still  stretched  forth  as  they  had  been  extended 
over  the  banqueting-table,  its  gray  hair  streamed  back  and 
mingled  with  his  own:  under  the  fitful  illumination  of  the 
torches,  which  played  red  and  wild  over  him  and  his  fearful 
burden,  the  dead  and  the  living  looked  joined  to  each  other 
in  one  monstrous  form. 

Huddled  together,  motionless,  on  the  stairs,  their  shouts 
of  vengeance  and  fury  frozen  on  their  lips,  the  assassins 
stood  for  one  moment,  staring  mechanically,  with  fixed,  spell- 
bound eyes,  upon  the  hideous  bulwark  opposing  their  ad- 
vance on  the  victims  whom  they  had  expected  so  easily  to 
surprise — the  next  instant  a  superstitious  panic  seized  them; 
as  the  hunchback  suddenly  moved  toward  them  to  descend, 
the  corpse  seemed  to  their  terror-stricken  eyes  to  be  on  the 
eve  of  bursting  its  way  through  their  ranks.  Ignorant  of  its 
introduction  into  the  palace,  imagining  it,  in  the  revival  of 
their  slavish  fears,  to  be  the  spectral  offspring  of  the  magic 
incantations  of  the  senators  above,  they  turned  with  one  ac- 
cord and  fled  down  the  stairs.  The  sound  of  their  cries  of 
fear  grew  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  direction  of  the  garden 
as  they  hurried  through  the  secret  gates  at  the  back  of  the 
building.  Then  the  heavy,  regular  tramp  of  the  hunchback's 
footsteps,  as  he  paced  the  solitary  corridors  after  them,  bear- 
ing his  burden  of  death,  became  audible  in  awful  distinct- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  339 

ness ;  then  that  sound  also  died  away  and  was  lost,  and  noth- 
ing more  was  heard  in  the  banqueting-room  save  the  sharp 
clang  of  the  blows  still  dealt  against  the  steel  railings  from 
the  street. 

But  now  these  grew  rare  and  more  rare  in  their  recur- 
rence; the  strong  metal  resisted  triumphantly  the  utmost 
efforts  of  the  exhausted  rabble  who  assailed  it ;  as  the  min- 
utes moved  on,  the  blows  grew  rapidly  fainter  and  fewer; 
soon  they  diminished  to  three,  struck  at  long  intervals;  soon 
to  one,  followed  by  deep  execrations  of  despair;  and  after 
that  a  great  silence  sank  down  over  the  palace  and  the  street, 
where  such  strife  and  confusion  had  startled  the  night  echoes 
but  a  few  moments  before. 

In  the  banqueting-hall  this  rapid  succession  of  events — the 
marvels  of  a  few  minutes — passed  before  Vetranio  and  Mar- 
cus as  visions  beheld  by  their  eyes,  but  neither  contained 
nor  comprehended  by  their  minds.  Stolid  in  their  obstinate 
recklessness,  stupefied  by  the  spectacle  of  the  startling  per- 
ils— menacing  yet  harmless,  terrifying  though  transitory — 
which  surrounded  them,  neither  of  the  senators  moved  a 
muscle  or  uttered  a  word,  from  the  period  when  Thascins 
had  fallen  beneath  the  hunchback's  attack  to  the  period 
when  the  last  blow  against  the  palace  railings,  and  the  last 
sound  of  voices  from  the  street,  had  ceased  in  silence.  Then 
the  wild  current  of  drunken  exultation,  suspended  within 
them  during  this  brief  interval,  flowed  once  more,  doubly 
fierce,  in  its  old  course.  Insensible,  the  moment  after  they 
had  passed  away,  to  the  warning  and  terrific  scenes  they  had 
beheld,  each  now  looked  round  on  the  other  with  a  glance 
of  triumphant  levity.  "  Hark  !"  cried  Vetranio,  "  the  mob 
without,  feeble  and  cowardly  to  the  last,  abandon  their  puny 
efibrts  to  force  my  palace  gates !  Behold  our  banqueting- 
tables  still  sacred  from  the  intrusion  of  the  revolted  menials, 
driven  before  my  guest  from  the  dead,  like  a  flock  of  sheep 
before  a  single  dog  !  Say,  oh  Marcus  !  did  I  not  well  to  set 
the  corpse  at  the  foot  of  our  banqueting-table  ?  What  mar- 
vels has  it  not  effected,  borne  before  us  by  the  frantic  Re- 
burrus,  as  a  banner  of  the  hosts  of  death,  against  the  cow- 
ardly slaves  whose  fit  inheritance  is  oppression,  and  whose 
sole  sensation  is  fear!  See,  we  are  free  to  continue  and  con- 
clude the  banquet  as  we  had  designed  !     The  gods  them- 


340  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

selves  have  interfered  to  raise  us  in  security  above  our  fel- 
low-mortals, whom  we  despise !  Another  health,  in  grati- 
tude to  our  departed  guest,  the  instrument  of  our  deliver- 
ance, under  the  auspices  of  omnipotent  Jove  !" 

As  Vetranio  spoke,  JNIarcus  alone,  out  of  all  the  revelers, 
answered  his  challenge.  These  two  —  the  last-remaining 
combatants  of  the  strife — having  drained  tlieir  cups  to  the 
health  proposed,  passed  slowly  down  each  side  of  the  room, 
looking  contemptuously  on  their  prostrate  companions,  and 
extinguishing  every  lamp  but  the  two  which  burned  over 
their  own  couches.  Then  returning  to  the  upper  end  of  the 
tables,  they  resumed  their  places,  not  to  leave  them  again 
until  the  fatal  rivalry  was  finally  decided,  and  the  moment 
of  firing  the  pile  had  actually  arrived. 

The  torch  lay  between  them  ;  the  last  vases  of  wine  stood 
at  their  sides.  Not  a  word  escaped  the  lips  of  either  to 
break  the  deep  stillness  prevailing  over  the  palace.  Each 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  other  in  stern  and  searching  scrutiny, 
and,  cup  for  cup,  drank  in  slow  and  regular  alternation. 
The  debauch,  which  had  hitherto  presented  a  spectacle  of 
brutal  degradation  and  violence,  now  that  it  was  restricted 
to  two  men  only — each  equally  unimpressed  by  the  scenes 
of  horror  he  had  beheld,  each  vying  with  the  other  for  the 
attainment  of  the  supreme  of  depravity — assumed  an  ap- 
pearance of  hardly  human  iniquity;  it  became  a  contest  for 
a  Satanic  superiority  of  sin. 

For  some  time,  little  alteration  appeared  in  the  counte- 
nances of  either  of  the  suicide  rivals  ;  but  tliey  had  now 
drunk  to  that  final  point  of  excess  at  which  wine  either  acts 
as  its  own  antidote,  or  overwhelms  in  fatal  suffocation  the 
pulses  of  life.  The  crisis  in  the  strife  was  approaching  for 
both,  and  the  first  to  experience  it  was  Marcus.  Vetranio, 
as  he  watched  him,  observed  a  daik  purple  flush  overspread- 
ing his  face,  hitherto  pale,  almost  colorless.  His  eyes  sud- 
denly dilated;  he  panted  for  breath.  The  vase  of  wine, 
when  he  strove  with  a  last  effort  to  fill  his  cup  from  it,  roll- 
ed from  his  hand  to  the  floor.  The  stare  of  death  was  in  his 
face  as  he  half  raised  himself,  and  for  one  instant  looked 
steadily  on  his  companion  ;  the  moment  aftei",  without  word 
or  groan,  he  dropped  backward  over  his  couch. 

The  contest  of  the  ni^ht  was  decided !     Tiie  host  of  the 


ANTOXIXA;    or,  the    fall    of    ROME.  841 

banquet  and  the  master  of  the  palace  had  been  reserved  to 
end  the  one,  and  to  fire  the  other ! 

A  smile  of  malignant  triumph  parted  Vetranio's  lips,  as 
he  now  arose  and  extinguished  tlie  last  lamp  burning  besides 
his  own.  That  done,  he  grasped  the  torch.  His  eyes,  as  he 
raised  it,  wandered  dreamily  over  the  array  of  his  treasures, 
and  the  forms  of  his  dead  or  insensible  fellow-patricians 
around  him,  to  be  consumed  by  his  act  in  anniliilaling  fire. 
The  sensation  of  his  solemn  night-solitude  in  his  fated  pal- 
ace began  to  work  in  vivid  and  varying  impressions  on  his 
mind,  which  was  partially  recovering  some  portion  of  its 
wonted  acuteness,  under  the  bodily  reaction  now  produced 
in  him  by  the  very  extravagance  of  the  night's  excess.  His 
memory  began  to  retrace,  confusedly,  the  scenes  with  which 
the  dwelling  that  he  was  about  to  destroy  had  been  con- 
nected, at  distant  or  at  recent  periods.  At  one  moment  the 
pomp  of  former  banquets,  the  jovial  congregation  of  guests, 
since  departed  or  dead,  revived  before  him;  at  another,  he 
seemed  to  be  acting  over  again  his  secret  departure  from  his 
dwelling  on  the  night  before  his  last  feast,  his  stealthy  return 
with  the  corpse  that  he  had  dragged  from  the  street;  his  toil 
in  setting  it  up  in  mockery  behind  the  black  curtain,  and  in- 
venting the  dialogue  to  be  spoken  before  it  by  the  hunch- 
back. Xow  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  minutest  circum- 
stances of  the  confusion  and  dismay  among  tlie  members  of 
his  household,  when  the  first  extremities  of  the  famine  began 
to  be  felt  in  the  city;  and  now,  without  visible  connection 
or  cause,  they  turned  suddenly  to  the  morning  when  he  had 
hurried  through  the  most  solitary  paths  in  his  grounds  to 
meet  the  betrayer  Ulpius,  at  Xumerian's  garden  gate.  Once 
more  the  image  of  Antonina — so  often  present  to  his  imag- 
ination, since  the  original  was  lost  to  his  eyes — grew  palpa- 
ble before  him.  He  thought  of  her,  as  listening  at  his  knees 
to  the  sound  of  his  lute;  as  awakening,  bewildered  and  ter- 
rified, in  his  arms;  as  flying  distractedly  before  her  father's 
Avrath ;  as  now  too  surely  lying  dead  in  her  beauty  and  her 
innocence,  amidst  the  thousand  victims  of  the  famine  and 
the  plague. 

These  and  other  reflections,  while  they  crowded  in  whirl- 
wind rapidity  on  his  mind,  wrought  no  alteration  in  the 
deadly  purpose  which  they  suspended.     His  delay  in  light- 


342         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

ing  the  torch  was  the  unconscious  delay  of  the  suicide,  se- 
cure in  his  resolution  ere  he  lifts  the  poison  to  his  lips — 
when  Life  rises  before  him  as  a  thing  that  is  past,  and  he 
stands  for  one  tremendous  moment  in  the  dark  gap  between 
the  present  and  the  future — no  more  the  pilgrim  of  Time — 
not  yet  the  inheritor  of  Eternity  ! 

So,  in  the  dimly-lighted  hall,  surrounded  by  the  victims 
whom  he  had  hurried  before  him  to  their  doom,  stood  the 
lonely  master  of  the  great  palace ;  and  so  spoke  within  him 
the  mysterious  voices  of  his  last  earthly  thoughts.  Gradu- 
ally they  sank  and  ceased,  and  stillness  and  vacancy  closed 
like  dark  veils  over  his  mind.  Starting  like  one  awakened 
from  a  trance,  he  once  more  felt  the  torch  in  his  hand,  and 
once  more  the  expression  of  fierce  desperation  appeared  in 
his  eyes,  as  he  lighted  it  steadily  at  the  lamp  above  him. 

The  dew  was  falling  pure  to  the  polluted  earth  ;  the  light 
breezes  sang  their  low,  day-break  anthem  among  the  leaves 
to  the  Power  that  bade  them  forth ;  night  had  expired,  and 
morning  was  already  born  of  it,  as  Vetranio,  with  the  burn- 
ing torch  in  his  hand,  advanced  toward  the  funeral  pile. 

He  had  already  passed  the  greater  part  of  the  length  of 
the  room,  when  a  faint  sound  of  footsteps  ascending  a  pri- 
vate staircase,  which  led  to  the  palace  gardens,  and  com- 
municated with  the  lower  end  of  the  banqueting-hall  by  a 
small  door  of  inlaid  ivory,  suddenly  attracted  his  attention. 
He  hesitated  in  his  deadly  purpose,  listening  to  the  slow, 
regular,  appi'oaching  sound,  which,  feeble  though  it  was, 
struck  mysteriously  impressive  upon  his  ear,  in  the  dreary 
silence  of  all  things  around  him.  Holding  the  torch  high 
above  his  head,  as  the  footsteps  came  nearer,  he  fixed  his 
eyes  in  intense  expectation  upon  the  door.  It  opened,  and 
the  figui'e  of  a  young  girl  clothed  in  white  stood  before  him. 
One  moment  he  looked  upon  her  with  startled  eyes,  the  next 
the  torch  dropped  from  his  hand  and  smouldered  unheeded 
on  the  marble  flooi*.     It  was  Antonina. 

Her  face  was  overspread  with  a  strange,  transparent  pale- 
ness ;  her  once  soft,  round  cheeks  had  lost  their  girlish  beau- 
ty of  form;  her  expression,  ineffably  mournful,  hopeless,  and 
subdued,  threw  a  simple,  spiritual  solemnity  over  her  whole 
aspect.  She  was  changed,  awfully  changed,  to  the  profli- 
gate senator,  from  the  being  of  his  former  admiration ;  but 


AXTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  343 

still  there  remained  in  her  despairing  eyes  enough  of  the  old 
look  of  gentleness  and  patience,  surviving  through  all  an- 
guish and  dread,  to  connect  her,  even  as  she  was  now,  with 
what  she  had  been.  She  stood  in  the  chamber  of  debauch- 
ery and  suicide,  between  the  funeral  pile  and  the  desperate 
man  who  was  vowed  to  fire  it,  a  feeble,  helpless  creature ; 
yet  powerful  in  the  influence  of  her  presence,  at  such  a  mo- 
ment and  in  such  a  form,  as  a  saving  and  reproving  spirit, 
armed  with  the  omnipotence  of  Heaven  to  mould  the  pur- 
poses of  man. 

Awed  and  astounded,  as  if  he  beheld  an  apparition  from 
the  tomb,  Vetranio  looked  upon  this  young  girl — whom  he 
had  loved  with  the  least  selfish  passion  that  ever  inspired 
him ;  whom  he  had  lamented  as  long  since  lost  and  dead 
with  the  sincerest  grief  he  had  ever  felt;  whom  he  now  saw 
standing  before  him,  at  the  very  moment  ere  he  doomed 
himself  to  death,  altered,  desolate,  supplicating — with  emo- 
tions which  held  him  speechless  in  wonder,  and  even  in 
dread.  While  he  still  gazed  upon  her  in  silence,  he  heard 
her  speaking  to  him  in  low,  melancholy,  imploring  accents, 
which  fell  upon  his  ear,  after  the  voices  of  terror  and  despe- 
ration that  had  risen  around  him  throughout  the  night,  like 
tones  never  addressed  to  it  before. 

"  Xumerian,  my  father,  is  sinking  under  the  famine,"  she 
began ;  "  if  no  help  is  given  to  him,  he  may  die  even  before 
sunrise  !  You  are  rich  and  powerful ;  I  have  come  to  you, 
having  nothing  now  but  /)is  life  to  live  for,  to  beg  suste- 
nance for  him  !"  She  paused,  overpowered  for  the  moment; 
and  bent  her  eyes  wistfully  on  the  senator's  face.  Then, 
seeing  that  he  vainly  endeavored  to  answer  her,  her  head 
drooped  upon  her  breast,  and  her  voice  sank  lower  as  she 
continued  : 

"I  have  striven  for  patience,  under  much  sorrow  and  pain, 
through  the  long  night  that  is  passed ;  my  eyes  were  heavy 
and  my  spirit  was  faint;  I  could  have  rendered  up  my  soul 
willingly,  in  my  loneliness  and  feebleness,  to  God  who  gave 
it ;  but  that  it  was  my  duty  to  struggle  for  my  life  and  my 
father's,  now  that  I  was  restored  to  him  after  I  had  lost  all 
besides!  I  could  not  think,  or  move,  or  weep,  as,  looking 
forth  upon  your  palace,  I  watched  and  waited  through  the 
hours  of  darkness  :  but  as  morninsr  dawned,  the  heaviness 


344  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

at  my  heart  was  lightened ;  I  remembered  that  the  palace  I 
saw  before  me  was  yours;  and  though  the  gates  were  closed, 
I  knew  that  I  could  reach  it  through  your  garden  that  joins 
to  my  father's  land.  I  had  none  in  Rome  to  ask  mercy  of 
but  you  !  so  I  set  forth  hastily,  ere  my  weakness  should 
overpower  me;  remembering  that  I  had  inherited  much 
misery  at  your  hands,  but  hoping  that  you  might  pity  me 
for  what  I  had  suffered  when  you  saw  me  again.  I  came 
wearily  through  the  garden ;  it  was  long  befoie  I  found  my 
way  hither;  will  you  send  me  back  as  helpless  as  I  came? 
You  first  taught  me  to  disobey  my  father  in  giving  me  the 
lute;  will  you  refuse  to  aid  me  in  succoring  him  now?  He 
is  all  that  I  have  left  in  the  world  !  Have  mercy  upon  him! 
— have  mercy  upon  me.'" 

Again  she  looked  up  in  Vetranio's  face.  His  trembling 
lips  moved,  but  still  no  sound  came  fi-om  them.  The  expres- 
sion of  confusion  and  awe  yet  prevailed  over  his  features,  as 
he  pointed  slowly  toward  the  upper  end  of  the  banqueting- 
table.  To  her  this  simple  action  was  eloquent  beyond  all 
power  of  speech;  she  turned  her  feeljle  steps  instantly  in 
the  direction  he  had  indicated. 

He  watched  her,  by  tire  light  of  the  single  lamp  that  still 
burned,  passing — strong  in  the  shielding  inspiration  of  her 
good  purpose — amidst  the  bodies  of  his  suicide  companions, 
without  pausing  on  her  way.  Having  gained  the  upper 
end  of  the  room,  she  took  from  the  table  a  flask  of  wine,  and 
from  the  wooden  stand  behind  it  the  bowl  of  oflTal  disdained 
by  the  guests  at  the  fatal  banquet,  returning  immediately 
to  the  spot  where  Vetranio  still  stood.  Here  she  stopped 
for  a  moment,  as  if  about  to  speak  once  more ;  but  her  emo- 
tions overpowered  her.  From  the  sources  which  despair 
and  suffering  had  dried  up,  the  long -prisoned  tears  once 
more  flowed  forth  at  the  bidding  of  gratitude  and  hope. 
She  looked  upon  the  senator,  silent  as  himself;  and  her  ex- 
pression at  that  instant  was  destined  to  remain  on  his  mem- 
ory while  memory  survived.  Then,  with  faltering  and  has- 
ty steps,  she  departed  by  the  way  she  had  come ;  and  in  the 
great  palace  which  his  evil  supremacy  over  the  wills  of  oth- 
ers had  made  a  hideous  charnel-house,  he  was  once  more  left 
alone. 

He  made  no  effort  to  follow  or  detain  her  as  she  left  him. 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   BOME.  345 

The  torch  still  smouklered  beside  him  on  the  floor,  but  he 
never  stooped  to  take  it  up ;  lie  dropped  down  on  a  vacant 
couch,  stupefied  by  what  he  had  beheld.  That  which  no 
entreaties,  no  threats,  no  fierce  violence  of  opposition  could 
have  effected  in  him,  the  appearance  of  Antonina  had  pro- 
duced ;  it  had  forced  him  to  }>ause  at  the  very  moment  of 
the  execution  of  his  deadly  design. 

He  remembered  how,  from  the  very  first  day  when  he  had 
seen  her,  she  had  mysteriously  influenced  the  whole  progress 
of  his  life  ;  how  his  ardor  to  possess  her  had  altered  his 
occupations,  and  even  interrupted  his  amusements;  how  all 
his  energy  and  all  his  wealth  had  been  baflled  in  the  attempt 
to  discover  her,  when  she  fled  from  her  father's  house ;  how 
the  first  feeling  of  remorse  that  he  had  ever  known,  had 
been  awakened  within  him  by  his  knowledge  of  the  share 
he  had  had  in  producing  her  unhappy  fate.  Recalling  all 
this;  reflecting  that  had  she  approached  him  at  an  earlier 
period  she  would  have  been  driven  back  aff"righted  by  the 
drunken  clamor  of  his  companions,  and  had  she  arrived  at 
a  later,  would  have  found  Ills  palace  in  flames;  thinking  at 
the  same  time  of  her  sudden  presence  in  the  banqueting-hall, 
when  he  had  believed  her  to  be  dead,  when  her  appearance 
at  the  moment  before  he  fired  the  pile  was  most  irresistible 
in  its  supernatural  influence  over  his  actions  —  that  vague 
feeling  of  superstitious  dread  which  exists  intuitively  in  all 
men's  minds,  which  had  never  before  been  aroused  in  his, 
thrilled  through  him.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  door  by 
which  she  had  departed,  as  if  he  expected  her  to  return. 
Her  destiny  seemed  to  be  portentously  mingled  with  his 
own ;  his  life  seemed  to  move,  his  death  to  wait,  at  her  bid- 
ding. There  was  no  repentance,  no  moral  purification  in  the 
emotions  which  now  suspended  his  bodily  faculties  in  inac- 
tion ;  he  was  struck  for  the  time  with  a  mental  paralysis. 

The  restless  moments  moved  onward  and  onward,  and 
still  he  delayed  the  consummation  of  the  ruin  which  the 
night's  debauch  had  begun.  Slowly  the  tender  daylight 
grew  and  brightened  in  its  beauty,  warmed  the  cold,  pros- 
trate bodies  in  the  silent  hall,  and  dimmed  the  faint  glow 
of  the  wasting  lamp ;  no  black  mist  of  smoke,  no  red  glare 
of  devouring  tire  arose  to  quench  its  fair  lustre;  no  roar  of 
flames  interrupted  the  murmuring  morning  tranquillity  of 

15* 


346  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  home. 

nature,  or  startled  from  their  heavy  repose  the  exhausted 
outcasts  stretched  upon  the  pavement  of  the  street.  Still 
the  noble  palace  stood  unshaken  on  its  firm  foundations; 
still  the  adornments  of  its  porticoes  and  its  statues  glittered 
as  of  old  in  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  ;  and  still  the  hand  of 
the  master  who  had  sworn  to  destroy  it,  as  he  had  sworn  to 
destroy  himself,  hung  idly  near  the  torch  which  lay  already 
extinguished  in  harmless  ashes  at  his  feet ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  LAST  EFFORTS  OF  THE  BESIEGED. 

We  return  to  the  street  before  the  palace.  The  calami- 
ties of  the  siege  had  fallen  fiercely  on  those  who  lay  there 
during  the  night.  From  the  turbulent  and  ferocious  mob 
of  a  few  hours  since  not  even  the  sound  of  a  voice  was  now 
heard.  Some,  surprised  in  a  paroxysm  of  hunger  by  exhaus- 
tion and  insensibility,  lay  with  their  hands  half  forced  into 
their  mouths,  as  if  in  their  ravenous  madness  they  had  en- 
deavored to  prey  upon  their  own  flesh.  Others  now  and 
then  wearily  opened  their  languid  eyes  upon  the  street,  no 
longer  regardful,  in  the  present  extremity  of  their  sufferings, 
of  the  building  whose  destruction  they  had  assembled  to 
behold,  but  watching  for  a  fancied  realization  of  the  visions 
of  richly-spread  tables  and  speedy  relief  called  up  before 
them,  as  if  in  mockery,  by  the  delirium  of  starvation  and 
disease. 

The  sun  had  as  yet  but  slightly  risen  above  the  horizon, 
when  the  attention  of  the  few  among  the  populace  who  still 
preserved  some  perception  of  outward  events  was  suddenly 
attracted  by  the  appearance  of  an  irregular  procession — 
composed  partly  of  citizens  and  partly  of  ofl^cers  of  the  Sen- 
ate, and  headed  by  two  men  —  which  slowly  approached 
from  the  end  of  the  street  leading  into  the  interior  of  the 
city.  This  assembly  of  persons  stopped  opposite  Vetranio's 
palace ;  and  then,  such  members  of  the  mob  who  watched 
them  as  were  not  yet  entirely  abandoned  by  hope,  heard 
the  inspiring  news  that  the  procession  they  beheld  was  a 
procession  of  peace,  and  that  the  two  men  who  headed  it 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  347 

were  the  Spaniard  Basilius,  a  governor  of  a  province,  and 
Johannes,  the  chief  of  the  inipei'ial  notaries — appointed  am- 
bassadors to  conclude  a  treaty  with  the  Goths. 

As  this  intelligence  reached  them,  men  who  had  before 
appeared  incapable  of  the  slightest  movement  now  rose 
painfully,  yet  resolutely,  to  their  feet,  and  crowded  round 
the  two  ambassadors  as  round  two  angels  descended  to  de- 
liver them  from  bondage  and  death.  Meanwhile,  some  of- 
ficers of  the  Senate,  finding  the  front  gates  of  the  palace 
closed  against  them,  proceeded  to  the  garden  entrances  at 
the  back  of  the  building,  to  obtain  admission  to  its  owner. 
The  absence  of  Vetranio  and  his  friends  from  the  delibera- 
tions of  the  Government,  had  been  attributed  to  their  dis- 
gust at  the  obstinate  and  unavailing  resistance  offered  to 
the  Goths.  Now,  therefoi-e,  when  submission  had  been  re- 
solved upon,  it  had  been  thought  both  expedient  and  easy 
to  recall  them  peremptorily  to  their  duties.  In  addition  to 
this  motive  for  seeking  the  interior  of  the  palace,  the  serv- 
ants of  the  Senate  had  another  errand  to  perform  there. 
The  widely-rumored  determination  of  Vetranio  and  his  as- 
sociates to  destroy  themselves  by  fire,  in  the  frenzy  of  a  last 
debauch  —  disbelieved  or  disregarded  while  the  more  im- 
minent perils  of  the  city  were  under  consideration — became 
a  source  of  some  apprehension  and  anxiety  to  the  acting 
members  of  the  Roman  council,  now  that  their  minds  were 
freed  from  part  of  the  responsibility  which  had  weighed  on 
them,  by  their  resolution  to  treat  for  peace. 

Accordingly,  the  persons  now  sent  into  the  palace  wei*e 
charged  with  the  duty  of  frustrating  its  destruction,  if  such 
an  act  had  been  really  contemplated,  as  well  as  the  duty  of 
recalling  its  inmates  to  their  appointed  places  in  the  senate- 
house.  How  far  they  were  enabled,  at  the  time  of  their  en- 
trance into  the  banqueting-hall,  to  accomplish  their  double 
mission  the  reader  is  well  able  to  calculate.  They  found 
Vetranio  still  in  the  place  which  he  had  occupied  since  An- 
tonina  had  quitted  him.  Startled  by  their  approach  from 
the  stupor  which  had  hitherto  weighed  on  his  faculties, 
the  desperation  of  his  purpose  returned  ;  he  made  an  effort 
to  tear  from  its  place  the  lamp  which  still  feebly  burned, 
and  to  fire  the  pile  in  defiance  of  all  opposition.  But  his 
strength,  already  taxed  to  the  utmost,  failed  him.     Uttering 


348         ANTOXINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

impotent  threats  of  resistance  and  revenge,  he  fell  swooning 
and  helpless  into  the  arms  of  the  officers  of  the  Senate  who 
held  him  back.  One  of  them  was  immediately  dismissed, 
while  his  companions  remained  in  the  palace,  to  communi- 
cate with  the  leaders  of  the  assembly  outside.  His  report 
concluded,  the  two  ambassadors  moved  slowly  onward,  sep- 
arating themselves  from  the  procession  which  had  accom- 
panied them,  and  followed  only  by  a  few  chosen  attendants 
— a  mournful  and  a  degraded  embassy,  sent  forth  by  the 
people  who  had  once  imposed  their  dominion,  their  cus- 
toms, and  even  their  language,  on  the  Eastern  and  Western 
worlds,  to  bargain  with  the  barbarians  whom  their  fathers 
had  enslaved,  for  the  purchase  of  a  disgraceful  peace. 

On  the  departure  of  the  ambassadors,  all  the  spectators 
still  capable  of  the  effort,  repaired  to  the  Forum  to  await 
their  return,  and  were  joined  there  by  members  of  the  pop- 
ulace from  other  pai'ts  of  the  city.  It  was  known  that  the 
first  intimation  of  the  result  of  the  embassy  would  be  given 
from  this  place;  and  in  the  eagerness  of  their  anxiety  to 
hear  it,  in  the  painful  intensity  of  their  final  hopes  of  deliv- 
erance, even  death  itself  seemed  for  a  while  to  be  arrested  in 
its  fatal  progress  through  the  ranks  of  the  besieged.  In  si- 
lence and  apprehension  they  counted  the  tardy  moments  of 
delay,  and  watched  with  sickening  gaze  the  shadows  lessen- 
ing and  lessening,  as  the  sun  gradually  rose  in  the  heavens 
to  the  meridian  point. 

At  length,  after  an  absence  that  appeared  of  endless  dura- 
tion, the  two  ambassadors  re-entered  Rome.  Neither  of 
them  spoke  as  they  hurriedly  passed  through  the  ranks  of 
the  people ;  but  their  looks  of  terror  and  despair  were  all- 
eloquent  to  every  beholder — their  mission  had  failed. 

For  some  time,  no  member  of  the  Government  appeared 
to  have  resolution  enough  to  come  forward  and  harangue 
the  people  on  the  subject  of  the  unsuccessful  embassy.  Af- 
ter a  long  interval,  however,  the  Prefect  Pompeianns  him- 
self, urged  partly  by  the  selfish  entreaties  of  his  friends,  and 
partly  by  the  childish  love  of  display  which  still  adhered 
to  him  through  all  his  present  anxieties  and  apprehensions, 
stepped  into  one  of  the  lower  balconies  of  the  senate-house 
to  address  the  citizens  beneath  him. 

The  chief  magistrate  of  Rome  was  no  longer  the  pompous 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  349 

and  portly  personage  whose  intrusion  on  Vetranio's  privacy 
during  the  commencement  of  the  siege  has  been  described 
previously.  The  little  superfluous  flesh  still  remaining  on 
his  face  hung  about  it  like  an  ill-fltting  garment;  his  tones 
had  become  lachrymose;  the  oratorical  gestures  with  which 
he  was  wont  to  embellish  profusely  his  former  speeches 
were  all  abandoned  ;  nothing  remained  of  the  original  man 
but  the  bombast  of  his  language  and  the  impudent  compla- 
cency of  his  self-applause,  which  now  appeared  in  contempt- 
ible contrast  to  his  crest-fallen  demeanor,  and  his  disheart- 
ening narrative  of  degradation  and  defeat. 

"Men  of  Kome,  let  each  of  you  exercise  in  his  own  person 
the  heroic  virtues  of  a  Regulus  or  a  Cato !"  the  prefect  be- 
gan, "A  treaty  with  the  barbarians  is  out  of  our  power! 
It  is  the  scourge  of  the  empire,  Alaric  himself,  who  com- 
mands the  invading  forces !  Vain  were  the  dignified  re- 
monstrances of  the  grave  Basilius,  futile  was  the  persuasive 
rhetoric  of  the  astute  Johannes,  addressed  to  the  slaughter- 
ing and  vain-glorious  Goth!  On  their  admission  to  his 
presence,  the  ambassadors,  anxious  to  awe  him  into  a  capit- 
ulation, enlarged,  with  sagacious  and  commendable  patriot- 
ism, on  the  expertness  of  the  Romans  in  the  use  of  arms, 
their  readiness  for  war,  and  their  vast  numbers  within  the 
city  walls.  I  blush  to  repeat  the  barbarian's  reply.  Laugh- 
ing immoderately,  he  answered,  ^The  thicker  the  (/rass,  the 
easier  it  is  to  cut!''  Still  undismayed,  the  ambassadors, 
changing  their  tactics,  talked  indulgently  of  their  willing- 
ness to  purchase  a  peace.  At  this  proposal,  his  insolence 
burst  beyond  all  bounds  of  barbarous  arrogance.  'I  will 
not  relinquish  the  siege,'  he  cried,  '  until  I  have  delivered  to 
me  all  the  gold  and  silver  in  the  city,  all  the  household  goods 
in  it,  and  all  the  slaves  from  the  northern  countries.'  '  What 
then,  oh  King,  will  you  leave  us  ?'  asked  our  amazed  am- 
bassadors. '  Your  lives  !'  answered  the  implacable  Goth. 
Hearing  this,  even  the  resolute  Basilius  and  the  wise  Johan- 
nes despaired.  They  asked  time  to  communicate  with  the 
Senate,  and  left  the  camp  of  the  enemy  without  further  de- 
lay. Such  was  the  end  of  the  embassy ;  such  the  arrogant 
ferocity  of  the  barbarian  foe  !" 

Here  the  prefect  paused,  from  sheer  weakness  and  want 
of  breath.     His  oration,  however,  was  not  concluded.     He 


350  ANTONINA ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

had  disheartened  the  people  by  his  narrative  of  what  had 
occurred  to  the  ambassadors;  he  now  proceeded  to  console 
them  by  his  relation  of  what  had  occurred  to  himself,  when, 
after  an  interval,  he  thus  resumed : 

"  But  even  yet,  oh  citizens  of  Rome,  it  is  not  time  to  de- 
spair !  There  is  another  chance  of  deliverance  still  left  to 
us;  and  that  chance  has  been  discovered  by  me.  It  was 
my  lot,  during  the  absence  of  the  ambassadors,  to  meet  with 
certain  men  of  Tuscany,  who  had  entered  Rome  a  few  days 
before  the  beginning  of  the  siege,  and  who  spoke  of  a  proj- 
ect for  relieving  the  city  which  they  would  communicate 
to  the  prefect  alone.  Ever  anxious  for  the  public  welfare, 
daring  all  treachery  from  strangers  for  advantage  of  my  of- 
fice, I  accorded  to  these  men  a  secret  interview.  They  told 
me  of  a  startling  and  miraculous  event.  The  town  of  Ne- 
veia,  lying,  as  you  well  know,  in  the  direct  road  of  the  bar- 
barians when  they  marched  upon  Rome,  was  protected  from 
their  pillaging  bands  by  a  tempest  of  thunder  and  lightning 
terrible  to  behold.  This  tempest  arose  not,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose, from  an  accidental  convulsion  of  the  elements,  but  was 
launched  over  the  heads  of  the  invaders  by  the  express  in- 
terference of  the  tutelary  deities  of  the  town,  invocated  by 
the  inhabitants,  who  returned  in  their  danger  to  the  prac- 
tice of  their  ancient  manner  of  worship.  So  said  the  men 
of  Tuscany ;  and  such  pious  resources  as  those  employed  by 
the  people  of  Neveia  did  they  recommend  to  the  people  of 
Rome !  For  my  part,  I  acknowledge  to  you  that  I  have 
faith  in  their  project.  The  antiquity  of  our  former  worship 
is  still  venerable  in  my  eyes.  The  prayers  of  the  priests  of 
our  new  religion  have  wrought  no  miraculous  interference 
in  our  behalf;  let  us,  therefore,  imitate  the  example  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Neveia,  and  by  the  force  of  our  invocations 
hurl  the  thunders  of  Jupiter  on  the  barbarian  camp !  Let 
us  trust  for  deliverance  to  the  potent  interposition  of  the 
gods  whom  our  fathers  worshiped  —  those  gods  who  now, 
perhaps,  avenge  themselves  for  our  desertion  of  their  tem- 
ples by  our  present  calamities,  I  go  without  delay  to  pro- 
pose to  the  Bishop  Innocentius  and  to  the  Senate  the  pub- 
lic performance  of  solemn  ceremonies  of  sacrifice  at  the 
Capitol !  I  leave  you  in  the  joyful  assurance  that  the  gods, 
appeased  by  our  returning  fidelity  to  our  altars,  will  not 


AJiTOKtNA;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  351 

refuse  the  supernatural  protection  which  they  accorded  to 
the  people  of  a  provincial  town,  to  the  citizens  of  Rome  !" 

No  sounds  either  of  applause  or  disapprobation  followed 
the  prefect's  notable  proposal  for  delivering  the  city  from 
the  besiegers  by  the  public  apostasy  of  the  besieged.  As 
he  disappeared  from  their  eyes,  the  audience  turned  away 
speechless.  A  universal  despair  now  overpowered  in  them 
even  the  last  energies  of  discord  and  crime ;  they  resigned 
themselves  to  their  doom  with  the  gloomy  indifference  of 
beings  in  whom  all  mortal  sensations,  all  human  passions, 
good  or  evil,  were  extinguished.  The  prefect  departed  on 
his  ill-omened  expedition  to  propose  the  practice  of  Pagan- 
ism to  the  bishop  of  a  Christian  church ;  but  no  profitable 
effort  for  relief  was  evei)  suggested,  either  by  the  Govern- 
ment or  the  people. 

And  so  this  day  drew  in  its  turn  toward  a  close — more 
mournful  and  more  disastrous,  more  fraught  with  peril,  mis- 
ery, and  gloom,  than  the  days  that  had  preceded  it. 

The  next  morning  dawned,  but  no  preparations  for  the 
ceremonies  of  the  ancient  worship  appeared  at  the  Capitol. 
The  Senate  and  the  bishop  hesitated  to  incur  the  responsi- 
bility of  authorizing  a  public  restoration  of  Paganism ;  the 
citizens,  hopeless  of  succor,  heavenly  or  earthly,  remain- 
ed unheedful  as  the  dead  of  all  that  passed  around  them. 
There  was  one  man  in  Rome  who  might  have  succeeded  in 
rousing  their  languid  energies  to  apostasy ;  but  where,  and 
ho\v,  employed  was  he? 

Now,  when  the  opportunity  for  which  he  had  labored  res- 
olutely, though  in  vain,  through  a  long  existence  of  suffer- 
ing, degradation,  and  crime,  had  gratuitously  presented  it- 
self more  tempting  and  more  favorable  than  even  he  in  his 
wildest  visions  of  success  had  ever  dared  to  hope — where 
was  Ulpius?  Hidden  from  men's  eyes,  like  a  foul  reptile,  in 
his  lurking-place  in  the  deserted  temple — now  raving  round 
his  idols  in  the  fury  of  madness,  now  prostrate  before  thera 
in  idiot  adoration — weaker  for  the  interests  of  his  worship, 
at  the  crisis  of  its  fate,  than  the  weakest  child  crawling 
famished  through  the  streets — the  victim  of  his  own  evil 
machinations  at  the  very  moment  when  they  might  have 
led  him  to  triumph — the  object  of  that  worst  earthly  retri- 
bution, by  which  the  wicked  are  at  once  thwarted,  doomed, 


352  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF    HOME. 

and  punished,  here  as  liereafter,  through  the  agency  of  their 
own  sins. 

Three  more  days  passed.  The  Senate,  their  numbers  fast 
diminishing  in  the  pestilence,  occupied  the  time  in  vain 
deliberations  or  moody  silence.  Each  morning  the  weary 
guards  looked  forth  from  the  ramparts,  w'ith  the  fruitless 
hope  of  discerning  the  long-promised  legions  of  Ravenna 
on  their  way  to  Rome;  and  each  morning  devastation  and 
death  gained  ground  afresh  among  the  hapless  besieged. 
At  length,  on  the  fourth  day,  the  Senate  abandoned  all 
hope  of  farther  resistance,  and  determined  on  submission, 
whatever  might  be  the  result.  It  was  resolved  that  anoth- 
er embassy  composed  of  the  whole  acting  Senate,  and  fol- 
lowed by  a  considerable  train,  should  proceed  to  Alaric: 
that  one  more  effbi-t  should  be  made  to  induce  him  to  abate 
his  ruinous  demands  on  the  conquered  ;  and  that  if  this  fail- 
ed, the  gates  should  be  thrown  open,  and  the  city  and  the 
people  abandoned  to  his  mercy  in  despair. 

As  soon  as  the  procession  of  this  last  Roman  embassy  was 
formed  in  the  Forum,  its  numbers  were  almost  immediate- 
ly swelled,  in  spite  of  opposition,  by  those  among  the  mass 
of  the  people  who  were  still  able  to  move  their  languid  and 
diseased  bodies,  and  who,  in  the  extremity  of  their  misery, 
had  determined,  at  all  hazards,  to  take  advantage  of  the 
opening  of  the  gates,  and  fly  from  the  city  of  pestilence,  in 
which  they  were  immured,  careless  whether  they  perished 
on  the  swords  of  the  Goths  or  languished  unaided  on  the 
open  plains.  All  power  of  enforcing  order  had  long  since 
been  lost ;  the  few  soldiers  gathered  about  the  senators 
made  one  abortive  effort  to  drive  the  people  back,  and  then 
resigned  any  further  resistance  to  their  will. 

Feebly  and  silently  the  spirit-broken  assembly  now  moved 
along  the  great  highways,  so  often  trodden  to  the  roar  of 
martial  music  and  the  shouts  of  applauding  multitudes,  by 
the  triumphal  processions  of  victorious  Rome;  and  from 
every  street,  as  it  passed  on,  the  wasted  forms  of  the  people 
stole  out  like  spectres  to  join  it.  Among  these,  as  the  em- 
bassy approached  the  Pincian  Gate,  were  two,  hurrying 
forth  to  herd  with  their  fellow-sufferers,  on  whose  fortunes 
in  the  fallen  city  our  more  particular  attention  has  been 
fixed.     To  explain  their  presence  on  the  scene  (if  such  an 


antonina;   or,  the  fall  of  home.  353 

explanation  be  required),  it  is  necessary  to  digress  for  a 
moment  from  the  progress  of  events  during  the  last  days 
of  the  siege  to  the  morning  when  Antonina  departed  from 
Vetranio's  palace  to  return  with  her  succor  of  food  and  wine 
to  her  father's  house. 

The  reader  is  already  acquainted,  from  her  own  short  and 
simple  narrative,  with  the  history  of  the  closing  hours  of 
her  mournful  night-vigil  by  the  side  of  her  sinking  parent, 
and  with  the  motives  which  prompted  her  to  seek  the  pal- 
ace of  the  senator,  and  entreat  assistance  in  despair  from 
one  whom  she  only  remembered  as  the  profligate  destroyer 
of  her  tranquillity  under  her  father's  roof.  It  is  now,  there- 
fore, most  fitting  to  follow  her  on  her  way  back  through  the 
palace  gardens.  Xo  living  creature  but  herself  trod  the 
grassy  paths,  along  which  she  hastened  with  faltering  steps 
— those  paths  which  she  dimly  remembered  to  have  first 
explored,  when  in  former  days  she  ventured  forth  to  follow 
the  distant  sounds  of  Vetranio's  lute.  In  spite  of  her  vague, 
heavy  sensations  of  solitude  and  grief,  this  recollection  re- 
mained painfully  present  to  her  mind,  unaccountably  min- 
gled with  the  dark  and  dreary  apprehensions  which  filled 
her  heart  as  she  hurried  onward,  until  she  once  more  en- 
tered her  father's  dwelling ;  and  then,  as  she  again  ap- 
proached his  couch,  every  other  feeling  became  absorbed  in 
a  faint,  overpowering  fear,  lest  after  all  her  perseverance  and 
success  in  her  errand  of  filial  devotion,  she  might  have  re- 
turned too  late. 

The  old  man  still  lived — his  weary  eyes  opened  gladly  on 
her,  when  she  aroused  him  to  partake  of  the  treasured  gifts 
from  the  senator's  banqueting-table.  The  wretched  food 
which  the  suicide-guests  had  disdained,  and  the  simple  flask 
of  wine  which  they  would  have  carelessly  quaffed  at  one 
draught,  were  viewed  both  by  parent  and  child  as  the  saving 
and  invigorating  sustenance  of  many  days.  After  having 
consumed  as  much  as  they  dared  of  their  precarious  supply, 
the  remainder  was  carefully  husbanded.  It  was  the  last 
sign  and  promise  of  life  to  which  they  looked — the  humble, 
yet  precious  store,  in  which  alone  they  beheld  the  earnest  of 
their  security,  for  a  few  days  longer,  from  the  pangs  of  fam- 
ine and  the  separation  of  death. 

And  now,  with  their  small  provision  of  food  and  wine  set 


354  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

like  a  beacon  of  safety  before  their  sight,  a  deep  dream-like 
serenity — the  sleep  of  the  oppressed  and  wearied  faculties — 
arose  over  their  minds.  Under  its  mysterious  and  tranquil- 
izing  influence,  all  impressions  of  the  gloom  and  misery  in 
the  city,  of  the  fatal  evidences  around  them  of  the  duration 
of  the  siege,  faded  away  before  their  perceptions  as  dim,  re- 
tiring objects  which  the  eye  loses  in  vacancy.  Gradually, 
as  the  day  of  the  first  unsuccessful  embassy  declined,  their 
thoughts  began  to  flow  back  gently  to  the  world  of  by-gone 
events  which  had  crumbled  into  oblivion  beneath  the  march 
of  time.  Her  first  recollections  of  her  earliest  childhood  re- 
vived in  Antonina's  memory,  and  then  mingled  strangely 
with  tearful  remembrances  of  the  last  words  and  looks  of  the 
young  warrior  who  had  expired  by  her  side,  and  with  calm, 
solemn  thoughts  that  the  beloved  spirit,  emancipated  from 
the  sphere  of  shadows,  might  now  be  hovering  near  the  quiet 
garden  grave  where  her  bitterest  tears  of  loneliness,  and  af- 
fliction had  been  shed ;  or  moving  around  her — an  invisible 
and  blessed  presence  —  as  she  sat  at  her  father's  feet  and 
mourned  their  earthly  separation  ! 

In  the  emotions  thus  awakened  there  was  nothing  of 
bitterness  or  agony  —  they  calmed  and  purified  the  heart 
through  which  they  moved.  She  could  now  speak  to  the 
old  man,  for  the  first  time,  of  her  days  of  absence  from  him, 
of  the  brief  joys  and  long  sorrows  of  her  hours  of  exile,  with- 
out failing  in  her  melancholy  tale.  Sometimes  her  father 
listened  to  her  in  sorrowful  and  speechless  attention ;  or 
spoke,  when  she  paused,  of  consolation  and  hope,  as  she  had 
heard  him  speak  among  his  congregation,  while  he  was  yet 
strong  in  his  resolution  to  sacrifice  all  things  for  the  refor- 
mation of  the  Chui'ch.  Sometimes,  resigning  himself  to  the 
influence  of  his  thoughts,  as  they  glided  back  to  the  times 
that  were  gone,  he  again  revealed  to  her  the  changing 
events  of  his  past  life — not  as  before,  with  unsteady  accents 
and  wandering  eyes ;  but  now  with  a  calmness  of  voice,  and 
a  coherence  of  language,  which  forbade  her  to  doubt  the 
strange  and  startling  narrative  that  she  heard.  Once  more 
he  spoke  of  the  image  of  his  lost  brother  (as  he  had  parted 
from  him  in  his  boyhood)  still  present  to  his  mind ;  of  the 
country  that  he  had  quitted  in  after  years ;  of  the  name  that 
he  had  chapged — from  Cleander  to  Numerian — to  foil  his 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  355 

former  associates,  if  they  still  pursued  him ;  and  of  the  ar- 
dent desire  to  behold  again  the  companion  of  his  first  home, 
which  now,  when  his  daughter  was  restored  to  him,  when 
no  other  earthly  aspiration  but  this  was  unsatisfied,  re- 
mained, at  the  close  of  his  life,  the  last  longing  wish  of  his 
heart. 

Such  was  the  communion  in  which  father  and  daughter 
passed  the  hours  of  their  short  reprieve  from  the  judgment 
of  famine  pronounced  against  the  city  of  their  sojourn;  so 
did  they  live,  as  it  were,  in  a  quiet  interval  of  existence,  in 
a  tranquil  pause  between  the  toil  that  is  over  and  the  toil 
that  is  to  come  in  the  hard  labor  of  life. 

But  the  term  to  these  short  days  of  repose  after  long  suf- 
fering and  grief  was  fast  approaching.  The  little  hoard  of 
provision  diminished  as  rapidly  as  the  stores  that  had  been 
anxiously  collected  before  it ;  and,  on  the  morning  of  the 
second  embassy  to  Alaric,  the  flask  of  wine  and  the  bowl 
of  food  were  both  emptied.  The  brief  dream  of  security 
was  over  and  gone:  the  terrible  realities  of  the  struggle  for 
life  had  begun  again  ! 

"Where,  or  to  whom,  could  they  now  turn  for  help  ?  The 
siege  still  continued ;  the  food  just  exhausted  was  the  last 
food  that  had  been  left  on  the  senator's  table ;  to  seek  the 
palace  again  would  be  to  risk  refusal,  perhaps  insult,  as  the 
result  of  a  second  entreaty  for  aid,  where  all  power  of  confer- 
ring it  might  now  but  too  surely  be  lost.  Such  were  the 
thoughts  of  Antonina  as  she  returned  the  empty  bowl  to  its 
former  place ;  but  she  gave  them  no  expression  in  words. 
She  saw,  with  horror,  that  the  same  expression  of  despair, 
almost  of  frenzy,  which  had  distorted  her  father's  features 
on  the  day  of  her  restoration  to  him,  now  marked  them 
again.  Once  more  he  tottered  toward  the  window,  mur- 
muring in  his  bitter  despondency  against  the  delusive  se- 
curity and  hope  which  had  held  him  idle  for  the  interests 
of  his  child  during  the  few  days  that  were  past.  But,  as  he 
now  looked  out  on  the  beleaguered  city,  he  saw  the  popu- 
lace hastening  along  the  gloomy  street  beneath,  as  rapidly 
as  their  wearied  limbs  would  carry  them,  to  join  the  embas- 
sy. He  heard  them  encouraging  each  other  to  proceed,  to 
seize  the  last  chance  of  escaping  through  the  open  gates 
from  the  horrors  of  famine  and  plague ;  and  caught  the  in- 


356  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME. 

fection  of  the  reclilessness  and  despair  wliich  had  seized  his 
fellow-sufferers  from  one  end  of  Rome  to  the  other. 

Turning  instantly,  he  grasped  his  daughter's  liand  and 
drew  her  from  the  room,  commanding  her  to  come  forth 
with  him  and  join  the  citizens  in  their  flight,  ere  it  was  too 
late.  Startled  by  his  words  and  actions,  she  vainly  en- 
deavored, as  she  obeyed,  to  impress  her  father  with  the 
dread  of  the  Goths  which  her  own  bitter  experience  taught 
her  to  feel,  now  that  her  only  protector  among  tliem  lay 
cold  in  the  grave.  With  Numerian,  as  with  the  rest  of  the 
people,  all  apprehension,  all  doubt,  all  exercise  of  reason, 
was  overpowered  by  the  one  eager  idea  of  escaping  from 
the  fatal  precincts  of  Rome. 

So  they  mingled  with  the  throng,  herding  affrightedly  to- 
gether in  the  rear  of  the  embassy,  and  followed  in  their 
ranks  as  best  they  might.  The  sun  shone  down  brightly 
from  the  pure  blue  sky,  the  wind  bore  into  the  city  the 
sharp  threatening  notes  of  the  trumpets  from  the  Gothic 
camp,  as  the  Pincian  Gate  was  opened  to  the  ambassadors 
and  their  train.  With  one  accord  the  crowd  instantly  en- 
deavored to  force  their  way  out  after  them  in  a  mass;  but 
they  now  moved  in  a  narrow  space,  and  were  opposed  by  a 
large  re-enforcement  of  the  city  guard.  After  a  short  strug- 
gle they  were  overpowered,  and  the  gates  were  closed. 
Some  few  of  the  strongest  and  the  foremost  of  their  num- 
bers succeeded  in  following  the  ambassadors;  the  greater 
part,  however,  remained  on  the  inner  side  of  the  gate,  press- 
ing closely  up  to  it  in  their  impatience  and  despair,  like  pris- 
oners awaiting  their  deliverance,  or  preparing  to  force  their 
escape. 

Among  these  —  feeblest  amidst  the  most  feeble  —  were 
Numerian  and  Antonina  —  hemmed  in  by  the  surrounding 
crowd,  and  shut  out  either  from  flight  from  the  city,  or  a 
return  to  home. 


ANTOXINA  ;  OK,  THE  FALL  OF  EOMB.  357 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  GRAVE  AXD  THE  CAMP. 

While  the  second  and  last  embassy  from  the  Senate  pro- 
ceeds toward  the  tent  of  the  Gothic  king;  while  the  streets 
of  Rome  ai-e  deserted  by  all  but  the  dead,  and  the  living 
populace  crowd  togeth'r-r  in  speechless  expectation  behind 
the  barrier  of  the  Pincian  Gate,  an  opportunity  is  at  length 
afforded  of  turning  our  attention  toward  a  scene  from  which 
it  has  been  long  removed.  Let  us  now  revisit  the  farm- 
house in  the  suburbs,  and  look  once  more  on  the  quiet  gar- 
den and  on  Hermanric's  grave. 

Tlie  tranquillity  of  the  bright  wai'm  day  is  purest  around 
the  retired  path  leading  to  the  little  dwelling.  Here  the 
fragrance  of  wild  flowers  rises  pleasantly  from  the  waving 
grass:  the  lulling,  monotonous  hum  of  insect  life  pervades 
the  light,  steady  air;  the  sunbeams,  intercepted  here  and 
there  by  the  clustering  trees,  fall  in  irregular  patches  of 
brightness  on  the  shady  ground;  and,  saving  the  birds 
which  occasionally  pass  overhead,  singing  in  their  flight,  no 
living  creature  appears  on  the  quiet  scene,  until,  gaining  the 
wicket-gate  which  leads  into  the  farm-house  garden,  we  look 
forth  upon  the  prospect  within.  There,  following  the  small 
circular  foot-path  which  her  own  persevering  steps  have  day 
by  day  already  traced,  appears  the  form  of  a  solitary  woman, 
pacing  slowly  about  the  mound  of  grassy  earth  which  marks 
the  grave  of  the  young  Goth. 

For  some  time  she  proceeds  on  her  circumscribed  round 
with  as  much  undeviating,  mechanical  regularity  as  if  be- 
yond that  narrow  space  rose  a  barrier  which  caged  her  from 
ever  setting  foot  on  the  earth  beyond.  At  length  she  pauses 
in  her  course  when  it  brings  her  nearest  to  the  wicket,  ad- 
vances a  few  steps  toward  it,  then  recedes,  and  recommences 
her  monotonous  progress,  and  then  again  breaking  off"  on  her 
round,  finally  succeeds  in  withdrawing  herself  from  the  con- 
fines of  the  grave,  passes  through  the  gate,  and  following 
the  path  to  the  high-road,  slowly  proceeds  toward  the  east- 


358         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

ern  limits  of  the  Gothic  camp.  The  fixed,  ghastly,  unfemi- 
nine  expression  on  her  features  marks  her  as  the  same  wom- 
an whom  we  last  beheld  as  the  assassin  at  the  farm-house; 
but  beyond  this  she  is  hardly  recognizable  again.  Her  for- 
merly powerful  and  upright  frame  is  bent  and  lean;  her  hair 
waves  in  wild,  white  locks  about  her  shriveled  face ;  all  the 
rude  majesty  of  her  form  has  departed ;  there  is  nothing  to 
show  that  it  is  still  Goisvintha  haunting  the  scene  of  her 
crime  but  the  savage  expression  debasing  her  "countenance 
and  betraying  the  evil  heart  within,  unsubdued  as  ever  in 
its  yearning  for  destruction  and  revenge. 

Since  the  period  when  we  last  beheld  her,  removed  in  the 
custody  of  the  Huns  from  the  dead  body  of  her  kinsman,  the 
farm-house  had  been  the  constant  scene  of  her  pilgrimage 
from  the  camp,  the  chosen  refuge  where  slie  brooded  in  soli- 
tude over  her  fierce  desires.  Scorning  to  punish  a  woman 
whom  he  regarded  as  insane,  for  an  absence  from  the  tents 
of  the  Goths,  which  was  of  no  moment  either  to  the  army  or 
to  himself,  Alaric  had  impatiently  dismissed  her  from  his 
presence  when  she  was  brought  before  him.  The  soldiers 
who  had  returned  to  bury  the  body  of  their  chieftain  in  the 
garden  of  the  farm-house,  found  means  to  inform  her  secret- 
ly of  the  charitable  act  which  they  had  performed  at  their 
own  peril ;  but  beyond  this  no  further  intercourse  was  held 
with  her  by  any  of  her  former  associates. 

All  her  actions  favored  their  hasty  belief  that  her  faculties 
were  disordered;  and  others  shunned  her  as  she  shunned 
them.  Her  daily  allowance  of  food  was  left  for  her  to  seek 
at  a  certain  place  in  the  camp,  as  it  might  have  been  left  for 
an  animal  too  savage  to  be  cherished  by  the  hand  of  man. 
At  certain  periods  she  returned  secretly  from  her  wander- 
ings to  take  it.  Her  shelter  for  the  night  was  not  the  shel- 
ter of  her  people  before  the  walls  of  Rome ;  her  thoughts 
were  not  their  thoughts.  Widowed,  childless,  friendless,  the 
assassin  of  her  last  kinsman,  she  moved  apart  in  her  own  se- 
cret world  of  bereavement,  desolation,  and  crime. 

Yet  there  was  no  madness,  no  remorse  for  her  share  in  ac- 
complishing the  fate  of  Hermanric,  in  the  dark  and  solitary 
existence  which  she  now  led.  From  the  moment  when  the 
young  warrior  had  expiated  with  his  death  his  disregard  of 
the  enmities  of  his  nation  and  the  wronixs  of  his  kindred, 


ANTONINA  ;    OE,  THE    FALL    OF   ROMK  359 

she  thought  of  him  only  as  of  one  more  victim  whose  dis- 
honor and  ruin  she  must  live  to  requite  on  the  Romans  with 
Roman  blood,  and  matured  her  schemes  of  revenge  with  a 
stern  resolution  which  time,  and  solitude,  and  bodily  infirm- 
ity were  all  powerless  to  disturb. 

She  would  pace  for  hours  and  hours  together,  in  the  still 
night  and  in  the  broad  noonday,  round  and  round  the  war- 
rior's grave,  nursing  her  vengeful  thoughts  within  her,  until 
a  ferocious  anticipation  of  triumph  quickened  her  steps  and 
brightened  her  watchful  eyes.  Then  she  would  enter  the 
farm-house,  and  drawing  the  knife  from  its  place  of  conceal- 
ment in  her  garments,  would  pass  its  point  slowly  back- 
ward and  forward  over  the  hearth  on  which  she  had  muti- 
lated Hermanric  with  her  own  hand,  and  from  which  he 
had  advanced,  without  a  tremor,  to  meet  the  sword-points 
of  the  Huns.  Sometimes,  when  darkness  had  gathered  over 
the  earth,  she  would  stand — a  boding  and  menacing  appari- 
tion— upon  the  grave  itself,  and  chant,  moaning  to  the  moan- 
ing wind,  fragments  of  obscure  Northern  legends,  whose  hid- 
eous burden  was  ever  of  anguish  and  crime,  of  torture  in 
prison  vaults  and  death  on  the  annihilating  sword  —  min- 
gling with  them  the  gloomy  story  of  the  massacre  at  Aqui- 
leia,  and  her  fierce  vows  of  vengeance  against  the  house- 
holds of  Rome.  The  forager,  on  his  late  return  past  the 
farm-house  to  the  camp,  heard  the  harsh,  droning  accents 
of  her  voice,  and  quickened  his  onward  step.  The  venture- 
some peasant  from  the  country  beyond,  approaching  under 
cover  of  the  night,  to  look  from  afar  on  the  Gothic  camp, 
beheld  her  form,  shadowy  and  threatening,  as  he  neared 
the  garden,  and  fled  afi'righted  from  the  place.  Neither 
stranger  nor  friend  intruded  on  her  dread  solitude.  The 
foul  presence  of  cruelty  and  crime  violated  undisturbed  the 
scenes  once  sacred  to  the  interests  of  tenderness  and  love, 
once  hallowed  by  the  sojourn  of  youth  and  beauty ! 

But  now  the  farm-house  garden  is  left  solitary;  the 
haunting  spirit  of  evil  has  departed  from  the  grave;  the 
footsteps  of  Goisvintha  have  traced  to  their  close  the  same 
paths  from  the  suburbs  over  which  the  young  Goth  once 
eagerly  hastened  on  his  night-journey  of  love;  and  already 
the  walls  of  Rome  rise — dark,  near,  and  hateful — before  her 
eyes.     Along  these  useless  bulwarks  of  the  fallen  city  she 


360         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  ROME. 

now  wanders,  as  she  has  often  wandered  before,  watching 
for  the  first  opening  of  the  long-closed  gates.  Let  us  follow 
her  on  her  way. 

Her  attention  was  now  fixed  only  on  the  broad  ramparts, 
while  she  passed  slowly  along  the  Gothic  tents  toward  the 
encampment  at  the  Pincian  Gate.  Ariived  there,  she  was 
ai'oused  for  the  first  time  from  her  apathy  by  an  unwonted 
stir  and  confusion'  prevailing  around  her.  She  looked  to- 
ward the  tent  of  Alaric,  and  beheld  before  it  the  wasted 
and  crouching  forms  of  the  followers  of  the  embassy,  await- 
ing their  sentence  from  tlie  captain  of  the  Northern  hosts. 
In  a  few  moments  she  gathered  enough  from  the  words  of 
the  Goths  congregated  about  this  part  of  the  camp,  to  as- 
sure her  that  it  was  the  Pincian  Gate  which  had  given 
egress  to  the  Roman  suppliants,  and  wliich  would,  there- 
fore, in  all  probability,  be  the  entrance  again  thrown  open 
to  admit  their  return  to  the  city.  Remembering  this,  she 
began  to  calculate  the  numbers  of  the  conquered  enemy 
grouped  together  before  the  king's  tent,  and  then  mentally 
added  to  them  those  who  might  be  present  at  the  interview 
proceeding  within — mechanically  withdrawing  herself,  while 
thus  occupied,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  waste  ground  before 
the  city  walls. 

Gradually  she  turned  her  face  toward  Rome:  she  was 
realizing  a  daring  purpose,  a  fatal  resolution,  long  cherish- 
ed during  the  days  and  nights  of  her  solitary  wanderings. 
"The  ranks  of  the  embassy,"  she  muttered,  in  a  deep, 
thoughtful  tone,  "  are  thickly  filled.  Where  there  are  many 
there  must  be  confusion  and  haste;  they  march  togethei-, 
and  know  not  their  own  numbers;  they  mark  not  one  more 
or  one  less  among  them." 

She  stopped.  Strange  and  dark  changes  of  color  and  ex- 
pression passed  over  her  ghastly  features.  She  drew  from 
her  bosom  the  bloody  helmet-crest  of  her  husband,  which  had 
never  quitted  her  since  the  day  of  his  death  ;  her  face  grew 
livid  under  an  awful  expression  of  rage,  ferocity,  and  despair, 
as  she  gazed  on  it.  Suddenly  she  looked  up  at  the  city — 
fierce,  and  defiant,  as  if  the  great  walls  before  her  were  mortal 
enemies  against  whom  she  stood  at  bay  in  the  death-strug- 
gle. "The  widowed  and  the  childless  shall  drink  of  thy 
blood !"  she  cried,  stretching  out   her  skinny  hand  toward 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome.  361 

Rome, "  though  the  armies  of  her  nation  barter  their  wrongs 
with  thy  people  for  bags  of  silver  and  gold  !  I  have  ponder- 
ed on  it  in  my  solitude,  and  dreamed  of  it  in  my  dreams ! 
I  have  sworn  that  I  would  enter  Rome,  and  avenge  my 
slaughtered  kindred,  alone  among  thousands !  Now,  now  I 
will  hold  to  my  oath  !  Thou  blood-stained  city  of  the  cow- 
ard and  the  traitor,  the  enemy  of  the  defenseless  and  the 
murderer  of  the  weak!  thou  who  didst  send  forth  to  Aqui- 
leia  the  slayers  of  my  husband  and  the  assassins  of  my  chil- 
dren, I  wait  no  longer  before  thy  walls !  This  day  will  I 
mingle,  daring  all  things,  with  thy  returning  citizens,  and 
penetrate,  amidst  Romans,  the  gates  of  Rome !  Through 
the  day  will  I  lurk,  cunning  and  watchful,  in  thy  solitary 
haunts,  to  steal  forth  on  thee  at  night,  a  secret  minister  of 
death!  I  will  watch  for  thy  young  and  thy  weak  ones  in 
unguarded  places;  I  will  prey,  alone  in  the  thick  darkness, 
upon  thy  unprotected  lives ;  I  will  destroy  thy  children,  as 
their  fathers  destroyed  at  Aquileia  the  children  of  the 
Goths!  Thy  rabble  will  discover  me  and  arise  against  me; 
they  will  tear  me  in  pieces,  and  trample  my  mangled  body 
on  the  pavement  of  the  streets ;  but  it  will  be  after  I  have 
seen  the  blood  that  I  have  sworn  to  shed  flowing  under  my 
knife !  My  vengeance  will  be  complete,  and  torments  and 
death  will  be  to  me  as  guests  that  I  welcome,  and  as  deliv- 
erers whom  I  await !" 

Again  she  paused — the  wild  triumph  of  the  fanatic  on  the 
burning  pile  was  flashing  on  her  face — suddenly  her  eyes 
fell  once  more  upon  the  stained  helmet-crest;  then  her  ex- 
pression changed  again  to  despair,  and  her  voice  grew  low 
and  moaning,  when  she  thus  resumed:  "I  am  weary  of  my 
life ;  when  the  vengeance  is  done,  I  shall  be  delivered  from 
this  prison  of  the  earth — in  the  world  of  shadows  I  shall  see 
my  husband  ;  and  ray  little  ones  will  gather  round  my  knees 
again.  The  living  have  no  part  in  me;  I  yearn  toward  the 
spirits  who  wander  in  the  halls  of  the  dead." 

For  a  few  minutes  more  she  continued  to  fix  her  tearless 
eyes  on  the  helmet-crest.  But  soon  the  influence  of  the  evil 
spirit  revived  in  all  its  strength;  she  raised  her  head  sud- 
denly, remained  for  an  instant  absorbed  in  deep  thought, 
then  began  to  retrace  her  steps  rapidly  in  the  direction  by 
which  she  had  come. 

16 


362  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

Sometimes  she  whispered  softly,  "I  must  be  doing,  ere 
the  time  fail  me ;  my  face  must  be  hidden,  and  my  garments 
changed.  Yonder,  among  the  houses,  I  must  search,  and 
search  quickly  !"  Sometimes  she  reiterated  her  denuncia- 
tions of  vengeance,  her  ejaculations  of  triumph  in  her  fran- 
tic project.  At  the  recapitulation  of  these,  the  remem- 
brance of  Antonina  was  aroused ;  and  then  a  blood-thirsty 
superstition  darkened  her  thoughts,  and  threw  a  vague  and 
dreamy  character  over  her  speech. 

When  she  spoke  now,  it  was  to  murmur  to  herself  that 
the  victim  who  had  twice  escaped  her  might  yet  be  alive ; 
that  the  supernatural  influences  which  had  often  guided  the 
old  Goths,  on  the  day  of  retribution,  might  still  guide  her; 
might  still  direct  the  stroke  of  her  destroying  weapon — the 
last  stroke  ere  she  was  discovered  and  slain — straight  to  the 
girl's  heart.  Thoughts  such  as  these — wandering  and  ob- 
scure—  arose  in  close,  quick  succession  within  her;  but 
whether  she  gave  them  expression  in  word  and  action,  or 
whether  she  suppressed  them  in  silence,  she  never  wavered 
or  halted  in  her  rapid  progress.  Her  energies  were  braced 
to  all  emergencies;  and  her  strong  will  suffered  them  not 
for  an  instant  to  relax. 

She  gained  a  retired  street  in  the  deserted  suburbs ;  and 
looking  round  her  to  see  that  she  was  unobserved,  entered 
one  of  the  houses  abandoned  by  its  inhabitants  on  the  ap- 
proach of  the  besiegers.  Passing  quickly  through  the  outer 
halls,  she  stopped  at  length  in  one  of  the  sleeping-apart- 
ments ;  and  here  she  found,  among  other  possessions  left  be- 
hind in  the  flight,  the  store  of  wearing  apparel  belonging  to 
the  owner  of  the  room. 

From  this  she  selected  a  Roman  robe,  upper  mantle,  and 
sandals  —  the  most  common  in  color  and  texture  that  she 
could  find;  and  folding  them  up  into  the  smallest  compass, 
hid  them  under  her  own  garments.  Then,  avoiding  all  those 
whom  she  met  on  her  way,  she  returned  in  the  direction  of 
the  king's  tent ;  but  when  she  approached  it,  branched  off 
stealthily  toward  Rome,  until  she  reached  a  ruined  building 
half-way  between  the  city  and  the  camp.  In  this  conceal- 
ment she  clothed  herself  in  her  disguise,  drawing  the  mantle 
closely  round  her  head  and  face;  and  from  this  point — calm, 
vigilant,  determined ;   her  hand  on   the  knife  beneath   her 


ANTONIKA;    On^.TflE   fALL   OF   ROME.  363 

robe ;  her  lips  muttering  the  names  of  her  murdered  hus- 
band and  children — she  watched  the  high-road  to  the  Pin- 
cian  Gate. 

There,  for  a  short  time,  let  us  leave  her,  and  enter  the 
tent  of  Alaric,  while  the  Senate  yet  plead  before  the  Arbiter 
of  the  Empire  for  mercy  and  peace. 

At  the  moment  of  which  we  write,  the  embassy  had  al- 
ready exhausted  its  powers  of  intercession,  apparently  with- 
out moving  the  leader  of  the  Goths  from  his  first  pitiless 
resolution  of  fixing  the  ransom  of  Rome  at  the  price  of  ev- 
ery possession  of  value  which  the  city  contained.  There 
was  a  momentary  silence  now  in  the  great  tent.  At  one 
extremity  of  it,  congregated  in  a  close  and  irregular  group, 
stood  the  wearied  and  broken-spirited  members  of  the  Sen- 
ate, supported  by  such  of  their  attendants  as  had  been  per- 
mitted to  follow  them;  at  the  other  appeared  the  stately 
forms  of  Alaric  and  the  warriors  who  surrounded  him  as  his 
council  of  war.  The  vacant  space  in  the  middle  of  the  tent 
was  strewn  with  martial  weapons,  separating  the  represent- 
atives of  the  two  nations  one  from  the  other;  and  thus  ac- 
cidentally, yet  palpably,  typifying  the  fierce  hostility  which 
had  sundered  in  years  past,  and  was  still  to  sunder  for  years 
to  come,  the  people  of  the  Xorth  and  the  people  of  the  South. 

The  Gothic  king  stood  a  little  in  advance  of  his  warriors, 
leaning  on  his  huge,  heavy  sword.  His  steady  eye  wander- 
ed from  man  to  man  among  the  broken -spirited  senators, 
contemplating,  with  cold  and  cruel  penetration,  all  that  suf- 
fering and  despair  had  altered  for  the  worse  in  their  out- 
ward appearance.  Their  soiled  robes,  their  wan  cheeks,  their 
trembling  limbs,  were  each  marked  in  turn  by  the  cool,  sar- 
castic examination  of  the  conqueror's  gaze.  Debased  and 
humiliated  as  they  were,  there  were  some  among  the  ambas- 
sadors who  felt  the  insult  thus  silently  and  deliberately  in- 
flicted on  them  the  more  keenly  for  their  very  helplessness. 
They  moved  uneasih^  in  their  places,  and  whispered  among 
each  other  in  low  and  bitter  accents.  At  length  one  of 
their  number  raised  his  downcast  eyes  and  broke  the  silence. 
The  old  Roman  spirit,  which  long  years  of  voluntary  frivol- 
ity and  degradation  had  not  yet  entirely  depraved,  flushed 
his  pale,  wasted  face,  as  he  spoke  thus: 

"  We  have  entreated,  we  have  ofiered,  we  have  promised 

4 


364  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    ^ALL   OF   ROME. 

—  men  can  do  no  more !  Deserted  by  our  emperor  and 
crushed  by  pestilence  and  famine,  nothing  is  now  left  to  us 
but  to  perish  in  unavailing  resistance  beneath  the  walls  of 
Rome !  It  was  in  the  power  of  Alaric  to  win  everlasting 
renown  by  moderation  to  the  unfortunate  of  an  illustrious 
nation ;  but  he  has  preferred  to  attempt  the  spoiling  of  a 
glorious  city  and  the  subjugation  of  a  suffering  people! 
Yet  let  him  remember,  though  destruction  may  sate  his  ven- 
geance and  pillage  enrich  his  hoards,  the  day  of  retribution 
will  yet  come.  There  are  still  soldiers  in  the  empire,  and 
heroes  who  will  lead  them  confidently  to  battle,  though  the 
bodies  of  their  countrymen  lie  slaughtered  around  them  in 
the  streets  of  pillaged  Rome  !" 

A  momentary  expression  of  wrath  and  indignation  ap- 
peared on  Alaric's  features  as  he  listened  to  this  bold  speech, 
but  it  was  almost  immediately  replaced  by  a  smile  of  deris- 
ion. "  What !  ye  have  still  soldiers  before  wiiom  the  bar- 
barian must  tremble  for  his  conquests  !"  he  cried.  "  Where 
are  they?  Are  they  on  their  march,  o'*  in  ambush,  or  hid- 
ing behind  strong  walls,  or  have  they  lost  their  way  on  the 
road  to  the  Gothic  camp?  Ha!  here  is  one  of  them !"  he 
exclaimed,  advancing  toward  an  enfeebled  and  disarmed 
guard  of  the  Senate,  who  quailed  beneath  his  fierce  glance. 
"Fight,  man!"  he  loudly  continued — "fight,  while  there  is 
yet  time,  for  Imperial  Rome  I  Thy  sword  is  gone  —  take 
mine,  and  be  a  hero  again  ?" 

With  a  rough  laugh,  echoed  by  the  warriors  behind  him, 
he  flung  his  ponderous  weapon,  as  he  spoke,  toward  the 
wretched  object  of  his  sarcasm.  The  hilt  struck  heavily 
against  the  man's  breast — he  staggered  and  fell  helpless  to 
the  ground.  The  laugh  was  redoubled  among  the  Goths; 
but  now  their  leader  did  not  join  in  it.  His  eye  glowed  in 
triumphant  scorn,  as  he  pointed  to  the  prostrate  Roman,  ex- 
claiming, "  So  does  the  South  fall  beneath  the  sword  of  the 
North !  So  shall  the  Empire  bow  before  the  rule  of  the 
Goth !  Say,  as  ye  look  on  these  Romans  before  us,  are  we 
not  avenged  of  our  wrongs?  They  die  not  fighting  on  our 
swords;  they  live  to  entreat  our  pity,  as  children  that  are 
in  terror  of  the  whip!" 

He  paused.  His  massive  and  noble  countenance  gradual- 
ly assumed  a   thoughtful   expression.      The    ambassadors 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  KOMB.         366 

moved  forward  a  few  steps  —  perhaps  to  make  a  final  en- 
treaty, perhaps  to  depart  in  despair;  but  he  signed  with  his 
hand,  in  command  to  them  to  be  silent,  and  remain  where 
they  stood.  The  marauder's  thirst  for  present  plunder,  and 
the  conqueror's  lofty  ambition  of  future  glory,  now  stirred 
in  strong  conflict  within  him.  He  walked  to  the  opening  of 
the  tent,  and,  thrusting  aside  its  curtain  of  skins,  looked  out 
upon  Rome  in  silence.  The  dazzling  majesty  of  the  temples 
and  palaces  of  the  mighty  city  as  they  towered  before  him, 
gleaming  in  the  rays  of  the  unclouded  sunlight,  fixed  him 
long  in  contemplation.  Gradually,  dreams  of  future  domin- 
ion amidst  those  unrivaled  structures,  which  now  waited  but 
his  word  to  be  pillaged  and  destroyed,  filled  his  aspiring 
soul,  and  saved  the  city  from  his  wrath.  He  turned  again 
toward  the  ambassadors  —  in  a  voice  and  look  superior  to 
them  as  a  being  of  a  higher  sphere — and  spoke  thus: 

"  When  the  Gothic  conqueror  reigns  in  Italy,  the  palaces 
of  her  rulers  shall  be  found  standing  for  the  places  of  his  so- 
journ.    I  will  ordain  a  lower  ransom ;  I  will  spare  Rome." 

A  murmur  arose  among  the  warriors  behind  him.  The 
rapine  and  destruction  which  they  had  eagerly  anticipated, 
was  denied  them  for  the  first  time  by  their  chief.  As  their 
muttered  remonstrances  caught  his  ear,  Alaric  instantly  and 
sternly  fixed  his  eyes  upon  them ;  and,  repeating  in  accents 
of  deliberate  command,  "I  will  ordain  a  lower  ransom;  I 
will  spare  Rome,"  steadily  scanned  the  countenances  of  his 
ferocious  followers.  Not  a  word  of  dissent  fell  from  their 
lips,  not  a  gesture  of  impatience  appeared  in  their  ranks ; 
they  preserved  perfect  silence,  as  the  king  again  advanced 
toward  the  ambasso.dors,  and  continued : 

"  I  fix  the  ransom  of  the  city  at  five  thousand  pounds  of 
gold  ;  at  thirty  thousand  pounds  of  silver — "  Here  he  sud- 
denly ceased,  as  if  pondering  further  on  the  terms  be  should 
exact.  The  hearts  of  the  Senate,  lightened  for  a  moment  by 
Alaric's  unexpected  announcement  that  he  would  moderate 
his  demands,  sank  within  them  again,  as  they  thought  on 
the  tribute  required  of  them,  and  remembered  their  exhaust- 
ed treasury.  But  it  was  no  time  now  to  remonstrate  or  to 
delay ;  and  they  answered  with  one  accord,  ignorant  though 
they  were  of  the  means  of  performing  their  promise,  "The 
ransom  shall  be  paid!" 


366  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL   OF  BOMB. 

The  king  looked  at  them  when  they  spoke,  as  if  in  aston- 
ishment that  men  whom  he  had  deprived  of  all  freedom  of 
choice,  ventured  still  to  assert  it,  by  intimating  their  accept- 
ance of  terms  which  they  dared  not  decline.  The  mocking 
spirit  revived  within  him  while  he  thus  gazed  on  the  help- 
less and  humiliated  embassy;  and  he  laughed  once  more  as 
he  resumed,  partly  addressing  himself  to  the  silent  array  of 
the  warriors  behind  him : 

"The  gold  and  silver  are  but  the  first  dues  of  the  tribute 
— my  army  shall  be  rewarded  with  more  than  the  wealth  of 
the  enemy.  You  men  of  Rome  have  laughed  at  our  rough 
bear-skins  and  our  heavy  armor;  you  shall  clothe  us  with 
your  robes  of  festivity  !  I  will  add  to  the  gold  and  silver 
of  your  ransom,  four  thousand  garments  of  silk  and  three 
thousand  pieces  of  scarlet  cloth.  My  barbarians  shall  be 
barbarians  no  longer!  I  will  make  patricians,  epicures, 
Romans  of  them !" 

The  members  of  the  ill-fated  embassy  looked  up  as  he 
paused,  in  mute  appeal  to  the  mercy  of  the  triumphant  con- 
querer ;  but  they  were  not  yet  to  be  released  from  the  crush- 
ing infliction  of  his  rapacity  and  scorn. 

"Hold!"  he  cried,  "I  will  have  more — more  still!  You 
are  a  nation  of  feasters:  we  will  rival  you  in  your  banquets, 
when  we  have  stripped  you  of  your  banqueting-robes !  To 
the  gold,  the  silver,  the  silk,  and  the  cloth  I  will  add  yet 
more — three  thousand  pounds  weight  of  pepper,  your  pre- 
cious merchandise,  bought  from  far  countries  with  your  lav- 
ish wealth ! — see  that  you  bring  it  hither,  with  the  rest  of 
the  ransom,  to  the  last  grain  !  The  flesh  of  our  beasts  shall 
be  seasoned  for  us  like  the  flesh  o^  yours  P"* 

He  turned  abruptly  from  the  senatoi-s,  as  he  pronounced 
the  last  words,  and  began  to  speak  in  jesting  tones  and  in 
the  Gothic  language  to  the  council  of  warriors  around  him. 
Some  of  the  ambassadors  bowed  their  heads  in  silent  resig- 
nation ;  others,  with  the  utter  thoughtlessness  of  men  bewil- 
dered by  all  that  they  had  seen  and  heard  during  the  inter- 
view that  was  now  closed,  unhappily  revived  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  broken  treaties  of  former  days,  by  mechanically 
inquiring,  in  the  terms  of  past  formularies,  what  security  the 
besiegers  would  require  for  the  payment  of  their  demands. 

"  Security !"  cried   Alaric  fiercely,  instantly  relapsing  as 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  op  kome.  367 

they  spoke  into  his  sterner  mood.  *'  Behold  yonder  the  fu- 
ture security  of  the  Goths  for  the  faith  of  Rome  !"  and  fling- 
ing aside  the  curtain  of  the  tent,  he  pointed  proudly  to  tlie 
long  lines  of  his  camp,  stretching  round  all  that  was  visible 
of  the  walls  of  the  fallen  city. 

The  ambassadors  remembered  the  massacre  of  the  host- 
ages of  Aquileia,  and  the  evasion  of  the  payment  of  tribute-: 
money  promised  in  former  days,  and  were  silent  as  they  look- 
ed through  the  opening  of  the  tent. 

"  Remember  the  conditions  of  the  ransom,"  pursued  Ala- 
ric,  in  warning  tones,  "  remember  my  security  that  the  ran- 
som shall  be  quickly  paid !  So  shall  you  live  for  a  brief 
space  in  security  ;  and  feast  and  be  merry  again,  while  your 
territories  yet  remain  to  you.  Go  —  I  have  spoken  —  it  is 
enough  !" 

He  withdrew  abruptly  from  the  senators ;  and  the  curtain 
of  the  tent  fell  behind  them  as  they  passed  out.  The  ordeal 
of  the  judgment  was  over;  the  final  sentence  had  been  pro- 
nounced ;  the  time  had  already  arrived  to  go  forth  and 
obey  it. 

The  news  that  tei-ms  of  peace  had  been  at  last  settled 
filled  the  Romans  who  were  waiting  before  the  tent  with 
emotions  of  delight,  equally  unalloyed  by  reflections  on  the 
past  or  forebodings  for  the  future.  Barred  from  their  reck- 
less project  of  flying  to  the  open  country  by  the  Goths  sur- 
rounding them  in  the  camp;  shut  out  from  retreating  to 
Rome  by  the  gates  through  which  they  had  rashly  forced 
their  way ;  exposed  in  their  helplessness  to  the  brutal  jeers 
of  the  enemy,  while  they  waited  in  a  long  agony  of  suspense 
for  the  close  of  the  perilous  interview  between  Alaric  and 
the  Senate,  they  had  undergone  every  extremity  of  suffer- 
ing, and  had  yielded  unanimously  to  despair,  when  the  intel- 
ligence of  the  concluded  treaty  sounded  like  a  promise  of 
salvation  in  their  ears. 

None  of  the  apprehensions  aroused  in  the  minds  of  their 
superiors  by  the  vastness  of  the  exacted  tribute,  now  min- 
gled with  the  unreflecting  ecstasy  of  their  joy  at  the  pros- 
pect of  the  removal  of  the  blockade.  They  arose  to  return 
to  the  city  from  which  they  had  fled  in  dismay,  with  cries 
of  impatience  and  delight.  They  fawned  like  dogs  upon 
the  ambassadors,  and  even  upon  the  ferocious  Goths.     On 


368         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  BOMB. 

their  departure  from  Rome  they  had  mechanically  preserved 
some  regularity  in  their  progress;  but  now  they  hurried 
onward  without  distinction  of  place  or  discipline  of  march — 
senators,  guards,  plebeians,  all  huddled  together  in  the  dis- 
orderly equality  of  a  mob. 

Not  one  of  them,  in  their  new-born  security,  marked  the 
ruined  building  on  the  high-road  ;  not  one  of  them  observed 
the  closely-robed  figure  that  stole  out  from  it  to  join  them 
in  their  rear,  and  then,  with  stealthy  footstep  and  shrouded 
face,  soon  mingled  in  the  thickest  of  their  ranks.  The  at- 
tention of  the  ambassadors  was  still  engrossed  by  their  fore- 
bodings of  failure  in  collecting  the  ransom ;  the  eyes  of  the 
people  were  fixed  only  on  the  Pincian  Gate ;  their  ears  were 
open  to  no  sounds  but  their  own  ejaculations  of  delight. 
Not  one  disguised  stranger  only,  but  many  might  now  have 
joined  them  in  their  tumultuous  progress,  unquestioned  and 
unobserved. 

So  they  hastily  re-entered  the  city;  where  thousands  of 
heavy  eyes  were  strained  to  look  on  them,  and  thousands 
of  attentive  ears  di'ank  in  their  joyful  news  from  the  Goth- 
ic camp.  Then  were  heard  in  all  directions  the  sounds  of 
hysterical  weeping  and  idiotic  laughter;  the  low  groans  of 
the  weak  who  died,  victims  of  their  sudden  transport,  and 
the  confused  outbursts  of  the  strong  who  had  survived  all 
extremities,  and  at  last  beheld  their  deliverance  in  view. 
Still  silent  and  serious,  the  ambassadors  now  slowly  pene- 
trated the  throng  on  their  way  back  to  the  Forum;  and  as 
they  proceeded,  the  crowd  gradually  dispersed  on  either  side 
of  them.  Enemies,  friends,  and  strangers  —  all  whom  the 
ruthless  famine  had  hitherto  separated  in  interests  and  sym- 
pathies— were  now  united  together  as  one  family  by  the  ex- 
pectation of  speedy  relief 

But  there  was  one  among  the  assembly  that  was  now 
separating  who  stood  alone  in  her  unrevealed  emotions 
amidst  the  rejoicing  thousands  around  her.  The  women 
and  children  in  the  throng,  as,  preoccupied  by  their  own 
feelings,  they  unheedfully  passed  her  by,  saw  not  the  eager, 
ferocious  attention  in  her  eyes,  as  she  watched  them  steadi- 
ly till  they  were  out  of  sight.  Within  their  gates  the  stran- 
ger and  the  enemy  waited  for  the  treacherous  darkness  of 
night;  and  waited  unobserved.     Where  she  had  first  stood 


AirroNiNA ;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  369 

when  the  thick  crowd  hemmed  her  in,  there  she  still  contin- 
ued to  stand  after  they  slowly  moved  past  her,  and  space 
grew  free.  Yet  beneath  this  outward  calm  and  silence  lurk- 
ed the  wildest  passions  that  ever  raged  against  the  weak 
restraint  of  human  will  —  even  the  firm  self-possession  of 
Goisvintha  was  shaken,  when  she  found  herself  within  the 
walls  of  Rome. 

No  glance  of  suspicion  had  been  cast  upon  her;  not  one 
of  the  crowd  had  approached  to  thrust  her  back  when  she 
passed  through  the  gates  with  the  heedless  citizens  around 
her.  Shielded  from  detection,  as  much  by  the  careless  se- 
curity of  her  enemies  as  by  the  stratagem  of  her  disguise, 
she  stood  on  the  pavement  of  Rome,  as  she  had  vowed  to 
stand,  afar  from  the  armies  of  her  people ;  alone  as  an  aven- 
ger of  blood. 

It  was  no  dream ;  no  fleeting,  deceitful  vision.  The  knife 
was  under  her  hand ;  the  streets  stretched  before  her ;  the 
living  beings  who  thronged  them  were  Romans ;  the  hours 
of  the  day  were  already  on  the  wane ;  the  approach  of  her 
vengeance  was  as  sure  as  the  approach  of  darkness  that 
was  to  let  it  loose.  A  wild  exultation  quickened  in  her  the 
pulses  of  life,  while  she  thought  on  the  dread  projects  of  se- 
cret assassination  and  revenge  which  now  opposed  her,  a 
solitary  woman,  in  deadly  enmity  against  the  defenseless 
population  of  a  whole  city.  As  her  eyes  traveled  slowly 
from  side  to  side  over  the  moving  throng;  as  she  thought 
on  the  time  that  might  still  elapse  ere  the  discovery  and 
death — the  martyrdom  in  the  cause  of  blood — which  she  ex- 
pected and  defied,  would  overtake  her,  her  hands  trembled 
beneath  her  robe ;  and  she  reiterated  in  whispers  to  her- 
self, "Husband,  children,  brother  —  there  are  five  deaths 
to  avenge  !     Remember  Aquileia  !     Remember  Aquileia !" 

Suddenly,  as  she  looked  from  group  to  group  among  the 
departing  people,  her  eyes  became  arrested  by  one  object; 
she  instantly  stepped  forward ;  then  abruptly  restrained 
herself  and  moved  back  where  the  crowd  was  still  thick ; 
gazing  fixedly  ever  in  the  same  direction.  She  saw  the  vic- 
tim twice  snatched  from  her  hands — at  the  camp  and  in  the 
farm-house — a  third  time  offered  to  her  grasp  in  the  streets 
of  Rome.  The  chance  of  vengeance  last  expected  was  the 
chance  that  had  first  arrived.     A  vague,  oppressing  sensa- 

16* 


370  antonina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome. 

sion  of  awe  mingled  with  the  triumph  at  her  heart — a  super- 
natural guidance  seemed  to  be  directing  her  with  fell  rapid- 
ity, through  every  mortal  obstacle,  to  the  climax  of  her  re- 
venge ! 

She  screened  herself  behind  the  people ;  she  watched  the 
girl  from  the  most  distant  point;  but  concealment  was  now 
vain — their  eyes  had  met.  The  robe  had  slipped  aside  when 
she  suddenly  stepped  forward,  and  in  that  moment  Antoni- 
na had  seen  her. 

Numerian,  moving  slowly  with  his  daughter  through  the 
crowd,  felt  her  hand  tighten  round  his,  and  saw  her  features 
stiffen  into  sudden  rigidity ;  but  the  change  was  only  for  an 
instant.  Ere  he  could  speak,  she  caught  him  by  the  arm 
and  drew  him  forward  with  convulsive  energy.  Then,  in 
accents  hardly  articulate,  low,  breathless,  unlike  her  wonted 
voice,  he  heard  her  exclaim,  as  she  struggled  on  with  him, 
"She  is  there  —  there  behind  us!  to  kill  me,  as  she  killed 
him  !    Home !  home !" 

Exhausted  already,  through  long  weakness  and  natural 
infirmity,  by  the  rough  contact  of  the  crowd,  bewildered  by 
Antonina's  looks  and  actions,  and  by  the  startling  intima- 
tion of  unknown  peril  conveyed  to  him  in  her  broken  excla- 
mations of  affright,  Numerian's  first  impulse,  as  he  hurried 
onward  by  her  side,  led  him  to  entreat  protection  and  help 
from  the  surrounding  populace.  But,  even  could  he  have 
pointed  out  to  them  the  object  of  his  dread  amidst  that 
motley  throng  of  all  nations,  the  appeal  he  now  made  would 
have  remained  unanswered.  Of  all  the  results  of  the  fright- 
ful severity  of  privation  suffered  by  the  besieged,  none  were 
more  common  than  those  mental  aberrations  which  produce 
visions  of  danger,  enemies,  and  death,  so  palpable  as  to 
make  the  persons  beholding  them  implore  assistance  against 
the  hideous  creation  of  their  own  delirium.  Accordingly, 
most  of  those  to  whom  the  entreaties  of  Numerian  were  ad- 
dressed passed  without  noticing  them.  Some  few  carelessly 
bid  him  remember  that  there  were  no  enemies  now,  that  the 
days  of  peace  were  approaching,  and  that  a  mg^l  of  good 
food,  which  he  might  soon  expect  to  enjoy,  was  the  only 
help  for  a  famished  man.  No  one,  in  that  period  of  horror 
and  suffering,  which  was  now  drawing  to  a  close,  saw  any 
thing  extraordinary  in  the  confusion  of  the  father  and  the 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rojje.  371 

terror  of  the  child.  So  they  pursued  their  feeble  flight  un- 
protected, and  the  footsteps  of  Goisvintha  followed  them  as 
they  went. 

They  had  already  commenced  the  ascent  of  the  Pincian 
Hill,  when  Antonina  stopj^ed  abruptly  and  turned  to  look  be- 
hind her.  Many  people  yet  thronged  the  street  below  ;  but 
her  eyes  penetrated  among  them,  sharpened  by  peril,  and  in- 
stantly discerned  the  ample  robe  and  the  tall  form,  still  at 
the  same  distance  from  them,  and  pausing  as  they  had 
paused.  For  one  moment  the  girl's  eyes  fixed  in  the  wild, 
helpless  stare  of  terror  on  her  father's  face ;  but  the  next, 
that  mysterious  instinct  of  preservation  which  is  co-existent 
with  the  instinct  of  fear — which  gifts  the  weakest  animal 
with  cunning  to  improve  its  flight,  and  takes  the  place  of 
reason,  reflection,  and  resolve,  when  all  are  banished  from 
the  mind — warned  her  against  the  fatal  error  of  permitting 
the  pursuer  to  track  her  to  her  home.  "Not  there!  not 
tliere  !"  she  gasped  faintly,  as  Nuraerian  endeavored  to  lead 
her  up  the  ascent.  "She  will  see  us  as  we  enter  the  doors! 
— through  the  streets!  Oh  father,  if  you  would  save  me, 
we  may  lose  her  in  the  streets ! — the  guards,  the  people  are 
there!     Back!  back!" 

Numerian  trembled  as  he  marked  the  terror  in  her  looks 
and  gestures;  but  it  was  vain  to  question  or  oppose  her. 
Nothing  short  offeree  could  restrain  her — no  commands  or 
entreaties  could  draw  from  her  more  than  the  same  breath- 
less exclamation:  "Onward,  father! — onward,  if  you  would 
save  me !"  She  was  insensible  to  every  sensation  but  fear, 
incapable  of  any  other  exertion  than  flight. 

Turning  and  winding,  hurrying  forward  ever  at  the  same 
rapid  pace,  they  passed  unconsciously  along  the  intricate 
streets  that  led  to  the  river  side ;  and  still  the  avenger 
tracked  the  victim,  constant  as  the  shadow  to  the  substance ; 
steady,  vigilant,  unwearied,  as  a  blood-hound  on  a  hot  scent. 

And  now,  even  the  sound  of  the  father's  voice  ceased  to 
be  audible  in  the  daughter's  ears;  she  no  longer  felt  the 
pressure  of  his  hand,  no  longer  perceived  his  very  presence 
at  her  side.  At  length,  frail  and  shrinking,  she  again  paused, 
and  looked  back.  The  street  they  had  reached  was  very 
tranquil  and  desolate :  two  slaves  were  walking  at  its  far- 
ther extremity.     While  they  were  in  sight,  no  living  crea* 


372  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL   OF    ROME. 

ture  appeared  in  the  roadway  behind  ;  but,  as  soon  as  they 
had  passed  away,  a  shadow  stole  slowly  forward  over  the 
pavement  of  a  portico  in  the  distance,  and  the  next  moment 
Goisvintha  appeared  in  the  street. 

The  sun  glared  down  fiercely  over  her  dark  figure  as  she 
stopped,  and  for  an  instant  looked  stealthily  around  her. 
She  moved  to  advance,  and  Antonina  saw  no  more.  Again 
she  turned  to  renew  her  hopeless  flight;  and  again  her  fa- 
ther— perceiving  only  as  the  mysterious  cause  of  her  dread 
a  solitary  woman,  who,  though  she  followed,  attempted  not 
to  arrest  or  even  to  address  them — prepared  to  accompany 
her  to  the  last,  in  despair  of  all  other  chances  of  securing 
her  safety.  More  and  more  completely  did  her  terror  now 
enchain  her  faculties,  as  she  still  unconsciously  traced  her 
rapid  way  through  the  streets  that  led  to  the  Tiber.  It 
was  not  Numerian,  not  Rome,  not  daylight  in  a  great  city, 
that  was  before  her  eyes ;  it  was  the  storm,  the  assassina- 
tion, tlie  night  at  the  farm-house,  that  she  now  lived  through 
over  again. 

Still  the  quick  flight  and  the  ceaseless  pursuit  were  con- 
tinued, as  if  neither  were  ever  to  have  an  end ;  but  the  close 
of  the  scene  was,  nevertheless,  already  at  hand.  During 
the  interval  of  the  passage  through  the  streets  Numerian's 
mind  had  gradually  recovered  from  its  first  astonishment 
and  alarm  ;  at  length  he  perceived  the  necessity  of  instant 
and  decisive  action,  while  there  was  yet  time  to  save  Anto- 
nina from  sinking  under  the  excess  of  her  own  fears.  Though 
a  vague,  awful  foreboding  of  disaster  and  death  filled  his 
heart,  his  resolution  to  penetrate  at  once,  at  all  hazards,  the 
dark  mystery  of  impending  danger  indicated  by  his  daugh- 
ter's words  and  actions  did  not  fail  him ;  for  it  was  aroused 
by  the  only  motive  powerful  enough  to  revive  all  that  suf- 
fering and  infirmity  had  not  yet  destroyed  of  the  energy  of 
his  former  days — the  preservation  of  his  child.  There  was 
something  of  the  old  firmness  and  vigor  of  the  intrepid  re- 
former of  the  Church  in  his  dim  eyes,  as  he  now  stopped, 
and,  inclosing  Antonina  in  his  arms,  arrested  her  instantly 
in  her  flight. 

She  struggled  to  escape ;  but  it  was  faintly,  and  only  for 
a  moment.  Her  strength  and  consciousness  were  beginning 
to  abandon  her.     She  never  attempted  to  look  back;  she 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  3/3 

felt  in  her  heart  that  Goisvintha  was  still  behind,  and  dared 
not  to  verily  the  frightful  conviction  with  her  eyes.  Her 
lips  moved ;  but  they  expressed  an  altered  and  a  vain  peti- 
tion :  "  Herraanric  I  oh,  Hermanric !"  was  all  they  murmured 
now. 

They  had  arrived  at  the  long  street  that  ran  by  the  banks 
of  the  Tiber.  The  people  had  either  retired  to  their  homes 
or  repaired  to  the  Forum  to  be  informed  of  the  period  when 
the  ransom  would  be  paid.  Xo  one  but  Goisvintha  was  in 
sight  as  Numerian  looked  around  him;  and  she,  after  hav- 
ing carefully  viewed  the  empty  street,  was  advancing  to* 
ward  them  at  a  quickened  pace. 

For  an  instant  the  father  looked  on  her  steadily  as  she  ap- 
proached, and  in  that  instant  his  determination  was  formed. 
A  flight  of  steps  at  his  feet  led  to  the  narrow  door-way  of  a 
small  temple,  the  nearest  building  to  him.  Ignorant  wheth- 
er Goisvintha  might  not  be  secretly  supported  by  compan- 
ions in  her  ceaseless  pursuit,  he  resolved  to  secure  this  place 
for  Antonina,  as  a  temporary  refuge  at  least ;  while  standing 
before  it,  he  should  oblige  the  woman  to  declare  her  pur- 
pose, if  she  followed  them  even  there.  In  a  moment  he  had 
begun  the  ascent  of  the  steps,  with  the  exhausted  girl  by  his 
side.  Arrived  at  the  summit,  he  guided  her  before  him  into 
the  door-way,  and  stopped  on  the  threshold  to  look  round 
again.     Goisvintha  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Xot  duped  by  the  woman's  sudden  disappearance  into 
the  belief  that  she  had  departed  from  the  street — persisting 
in  his  resolution  to  lead  his  daughter  to  a  place  of  repose, 
where  she  might  almost  immediately  feel  herself  secure,  and 
might  therefore  most  readily  recover  her  self-possession  — 
Xumerian  drew  Antonina  with  him  into  the  temple.  He 
lingered  there  for  a  moment,  ere  he  departed  to  watch  the 
street  from  the  portico  outside. 

The  light  in  the  building  was  dim — it  was  admitted  only 
from  a  small  aperture  in  the  roof,  and  through  the  narrow 
door- way,  where  it  was  intercepted  by  the  overhanging  bulk 
of  the  outer  portico.  A  crooked  pile  of  dark,  heavy-looking 
substances  on  the  floor  rose  high  toward  the  ceiling,  in  the 
obscure  interior.  Irregular  in  form,  flung  together  one  over 
the  other  in  strange  disorder,  for  the  most  part  dusky  in  hue, 
yet  here  and  there  gleaming  at  points  with  metallic  bright* 


374  antoxina;  or,  the  fall  op  rome. 

hess,  these  objects  presented  a  mysterious,  indefinite,  and 
startling  appearance.  It  was  impossible,  on  a  first  view  of 
their  confused  arrangement,  to  discover  what  they  were,  or 
to  guess  for  what  purpose  they  could  have  been  piled  to- 
gether on  the  floor  of  a  deserted  temple.  From  the  moment 
when  they  had  first  attracted  Nuraerian's  observation  his 
attention  was  fixed  on  them,  and  as  he  looked,  a  faint  thrill 
of  suspicion — vague,  inexplicable,  without  apparent  cause  or 
object — struck  chill  to  his  heart. 

He  had  moved  a  step  forward  to  examine  the  liidden 
space  at  the  back  of  the  pile,  when  his  farther  advance  was 
instantly  stopped  by  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  walked 
forth  from  it,  dressed  in  the  floating,  purple-edged  robe  and 
white  fillet  of  the  Pagan  priests.  Before  either  father  or 
daughter  could  speak,  even  before  they  could  move  to  de- 
part, he  stepped  up  to  them,  and  placing  his  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  each,  confronted  them  in  silence. 

At  the  moment  when  the  stranger  approached,  Numerian 
raised  his  hand  to  thrust  him  back,  and  in  so  doing  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  man's  countenance,  as  a  ray  of  light  from  the 
door-way  floated  over  it.  Instantly  his  arm  remained  out- 
stretched and  rigid,  then  it  dropped  to  his  side,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  horror  on  the  face  of  the  child  became  reflected, 
as  it  were,  on  the  face  of  the  parent.  Neither  moved  under 
the  hand  of  the  dweller  in  the  temple  when  he  laid  it  heav- 
ily on  each,  and  both  stood  befoi-e  him  speechless  as  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  TEMPLE  AND  THE  CHURCH. 

It  was  ITlpius.  The  Pagan  was  changed  in  bearing  and 
countenance  as  well  as  in  apparel.  He  stood  more  firm  and 
upright ;  a  dull,  tawny  hue  overspread  his  face;  his  eyes,  so 
sunken  and  lustreless  in  other  days,  were  now  distended,  and 
bright  with  the  glare  of  insanity.  It  seemed  as  if  his  bodily 
powers  had  renewed  their  vigor,  while  his  mental  faculties 
had  declined  toward  their  ruin. 

No  human  eye  had  ever  beheld  by  what  foul  and  secret 
means  he  had  survived  through  the  famine;  on  what  un- 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome.  375 

natural  sustenance  he  had  satisfied  the  cravings  of  inexo- 
rable hunger;  but  there,  in  his  gloomy  shelter,  the  madman 
and  the  outcast  had  lived,  and  moved,  and  suddenly  and 
strangely  strengthened,  after  the  people  of  the  city  had  ex- 
hausted all  their  united  resources,  lavished  in  vain  all  their 
united  wealth,  and  drooped  and  died  by  thousands  around 
him ! 

His  grasp  still  lay  heavy  on  the  father  and  daughter,  and 
still  both  confronted  him  —  silent,  as  if  death-struck  by  his 
gaze ;  motionless,  as  if  frozen  at  his  touch.  His  presence 
was  exerting  over  them  a  fatal  fascination.  The  power  of 
action,  suspended  in  Antonina  as  she  entered  their  ill-chosen 
refuge,  was  now  arrested  in  Numerian  also;  but  with  him 
no  thought  of  the  enemy  in  the  street  had  part,  at  this  mo- 
'ment,  in  the  resistless  influence  which  held  him  helpless  be- 
fore the  enemy  in  the  temple.  It  was  a  feeling  of  deeper 
awe  and  darker  horror.  For  now,  as  he  looked  upon  the 
hideous  features  of  Ulpius,  as  he  saw  the  forbidden  robe. of 
priesthood  in  which  the  Pagan  was  arrayed,  he  beheld  not 
only  the  traitor  who  had  successfully  plotted  against  the 
prosperity  of  his  household,  but  the  madman  as  well — the 
moral  leper  of  the  whole  human  family  —  the  living  Body, 
and  the  dead  Soul — the  Disinherited  of  that  Divine  Light  of 
Life  which  it  is  the  awful  privilege  of  mortal  man  to  share 
with  the  angels  of  God. 

He  still  clasped  Antonina  to  his  side,  but  it  was  uncon- 
sciously. To  all  outward  appearance  he  was  helpless  as  his 
helpless  child,  when  Ulpius  slowly  removed  his  grasp  from 
their  shoulders,  separated  them,  and  locking  the  hand  of 
each  in  his  cold,  bony  fingers,  began  to  speak. 

His  voice  was  deep  and  solemn,  but  his  accents,  in  their 
hard,  unvarying  tone,  seemed  to  express  no  human  emotion. 
His  eyes,  far  from  brightening  as  he  spoke,  relapsed  into  a 
dull,  vacant  insensibility.  The  connection  between  the  ac- 
tion of  speech  and  the  accompanying  and  explaining  action 
of  look  which  is  observable  in  all  men,  seemed  lost  in  him. 
It  was  fearful  to  behold  the  death-like  face,  and  to  listen  at 
the  same  moment  to  the  living  voice. 

"Lo!  the  votaries  come  to  the  Temple!"  murmured  the 
Pagan.  "The  good  servants  of  the  mighty  worship  gather 
at  the  voice  of  the  priest !     In  the  far  provinces,  where  the 


376  ANTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OP    ROME. 

enemies  of  the  gods  approach  to  profane  the  sacred  groves, 
behold  tlie  scattered  people  congregating  by  night,  to  jour- 
ney to  the  shrine  of  Serapis  !  Adoring  thousands  kneel  be- 
neath the  lofty  porticoes,  while  within,  in  the  secret  hall 
where  the  light  is  dim,  where  the  air  quivers  round  the 
breathing  deities  on  their  pedestals  of  gold,  the  high-priest 
XJlpius  reads  the  destinies  of  the  Future,  that  are  unrolled 
before  his  eyes  like  a  book !" 

As  he  ceased,  and,  still  holding  the  hands  of  his  captives, 
looked  on  them  fixedly  as  ever,  his  eyes  brightened  and  di- 
lated again ;  but  they  expressed  not  the  slightest  recogni- 
tion either  of  father  or  daughter.  The  delirium  of  his  imag- 
ination had  transported  him  to  the  temple  at  Alexandria; 
the  days  were  revived  when  his  glory  had  risen  to  its  cul- 
minating point,  when  the  Christians  trembled  before  him  as 
their  fiercest  enemy,  and  the  Pagans  surrounded  him  as 
their  last  hope.  The  victims  of  his  former  and  forgotten 
treachery  were  but  as  two  among  the  throng  of  votaries  al- 
lured by  the  fame  of  his  eloquence;  by  the  triumphant  no- 
toriety of  his  power  to  protect  the  adherents  of  the  ancient 
creed.  But  it  was  not  always  thus  that  his  madness  de- 
clared itself:  there  were  moments  when  it  rose  to  appalling 
frenzy.  Then  he  imagined  himself  to  be  again  hurling  the 
Christian  assailants  from  the  topmost  walls  of  the  besieged 
temple — in  that  past  time,  when  the  image  of  Serapis  was 
doomed  by  the  Bishop  of  Alexandria  to  be  destroyed.  His 
yells  of  fury,  his  frantic  execrations  of  defiance  were  heard 
afar,  in  the  solemn  silence  of  pestilence  -  stricken  Rome. 
Those  who,  during  the  most  fatal  days  of  the  Gothic  block- 
ade, dropped  famished  on  the  pavement  before  the  little 
temple,  as  they  endeavored  to  pass  it  on  their  onward  way, 
presented  a  dread  reality  of  death,  to  embody  the  madman'-s 
visions  of  battle  and  slaughter.  As  these  victims  of  famine 
lay  expiring  in  the  street,  they  heard  above  them  his  raving 
voice  cursing  them  for  Christians ;  triumphing  over  them  as 
defeated  enemies  destroyed  by  his  hand ;  exhorting  his  im- 
aginary adherents  to  fling  the  slain  above  on  the  dead  be- 
low, until  the  bodies  of  the  besiegers  of  the  temple  were 
piled,  as  barriers  against  their  living  comrades,  round  its 
walls.  Sometimes  his  frenzy  gloried  in  the  fancied  revival 
of  the  foul  and  sanguinary  ceremonies  of  Pagan  superstition. 


ANTONIXA;  or,  the  fall  of  ROME.         377 

Then  he  bared  his  arms,  and  shouted  aloud  for  the  sacrifice ; 
he  committed  dark  and  nameless  atrocities — for  now  again 
the  dead  and  the  dying  lay  before  him,  to  give  substance  to 
the  shadow  of  his  evil  thoughts;  and  Plague  and  Hunger 
were  as  creatures  of  his  will,  and  slew  the  victim  for  the  al- 
tar ready  to  his  hands. 

At  other  times,  when  the  raving  fit  had  jjassed  away,  and 
he  lay  panting  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  interior  of  the 
temple,  his  insanity  assumed  another  and  a  mournful  form. 
His  voice  grew  low  and  moaning;  the  wreck  of  his  memory 
— wandering  and  uncontrollable — floated  back,  far  back,  on 
the  dark  waters  of  the  past ;  and  his  tongue  uttered  frag- 
ments of  words  ajid  phrases  that  he  had  murmured  at  his  fa- 
ther's knees — farewell,  childish  wishes  that  he  had  breathed 
in  his  mother's  ear  —  innocent,  anxious  questions  which  he 
had  addressed  to  Macrinus,  the  high-priest,  when  he  first  en- 
tered the  service  of  the  gods  at  Alexandria.  His  boyish 
reveries — the  gentleness  of  speech  and  poetry  of  thought  of 
his  first  youthful  days,  were  now,  by  the  unsearchable  and 
arbitrary  influences  of  his  disease,  revived  in  his  broken 
words;  renewed  in  his  desolate  old  age  of  madness  and 
crime,  breathed  out  in  unconscious  mockery  by  his  lips, 
while  the  foam  still  gathered  about  them,  and  the  last  flash- 
es of  frenzy  yet  lightened  in  his  eyes. 

This  unnatural  calmness  of  language  and  vividness  of 
memory;  this  treacherous  appearance  of  thoughtful,  melan- 
choly self-possession,  would  often  continue  through  long  pe- 
riods, uninterrupted  ;  but,  sooner  or  later,  the  sudden  change 
came;  the  deceitful  chain  of  thought  snapped  asunder  in  an 
instant ;  the  word  was  left  half  uttered ;  the  wearied  limbs 
started  convulsively  into  renewed  action;  and  as  the  dream 
of  violence  returned  and  the  dream  of  peace  vanished,  the 
madman  rioted  afresh  in  liis  fury ;  and  journeyed,  as  his  vis- 
ions led  him,  round  and  round  his  temple  sanctuary,  and 
hither  and  thither,  when  the  night  was  dark  and  death  was 
busiest  in  Rome,  among  the  expiring  in  deserted  houses,  and 
the  lifeless  in  the  silent  streets. 

But  there  were  other  later  events  in  his  existence  that 
never  revived  within  him.  The  old,  familiar  image  of  the 
idol  Serapis,  which  had  drawn  him  into  the  temple  when  he 
re-entered  Rome,  absorbed  in  itself  and  in  its  associated  re- 


378  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

merabrances  all  that  remained  active  of  his  paralyzed  facul- 
ties. His  betrayal  of  his  trust  in  the  house  of  Numerian, 
his  passage  through  the  rifted  wall,  his  crushing  repulse  in 
the  tent  of  Alaric,  never  for  a  moment  occupied  his  wander- 
ing thoughts.  The  clouds  that  hung  over  his  mind  might 
open  to  him  parting  glimpses  of  the  toils  and  triumphs  of 
his  early  career,  but  they  descended  in  impenetrable  dark- 
ness on  all  the  after-days  of  his  dreary  life. 

Such  was  the  being  to  whose  will,  by  a  mysterious  fatali- 
ty, the  father  and  child  were  now  submitted — such  the  ex- 
istence—  solitary,  hopeless,  loathsome  —  of  their  stern  and 
wily  betrayer  of  other  days  ! 

Since  he  had  ceased  speaking,  the  cold,  death-like  grasp 
of  his  hand  had  gradually  strengthened;  and  he  had  begun 
to  look  slowly  and  inquiringly  round  him  from  side  to  side. 
Had  this  change  marked  the  approaching  return  of  his  rav- 
ing paroxysm,  the  lives  of  Numerian  and  Antonina  would 
have  been  sacrificed  the  next  moment ;  but  all  that  it  now 
denoted  was  the  quickening  of  the  lofty  and  obscure  ideas 
of  celebrity  and  success  ;  of  priestly  honor  and  influence;  of 
the  splendor  and  glory  of  the  gods,  which  had  prompted  his 
last  words.  He  moved  suddenly,  and  drew  the  victims  of 
his  dangerous  caprice  a  few  steps  farther  into  the  interior  of 
the  temple;  then  led  them  close  up  to  the  lofty  pile  of  ob- 
jects which  had  first  attracted  Numerian's  eyes  on  entering 
the  building.  "  Kneel  and  adore  !"  cried  the  madman,  fierce- 
ly, replacing  his  hands  on  their  shoulders  and  pressing  them 
to  the  ground.  "  You  stand  before  the  gods,  in  the  presence 
of  their  high-priest!" 

The  girl's  head  sunk  forward,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands;  but  her  father  looked  up  tremblingly  at  the  pile. 
His  eyes  had  insensibly  become  more  accustomed  to  the 
dim  light  of  the  temple,  and  he  now  saw  more  distinctly 
the  objects  composing  the  mass  that  rose  above  him.  Hun- 
dreds of  images  of  the  gods,  in  gold,  silver,  and  wood — 
many  in  the  latter  material  being  larger  than  life ;  canopies, 
vestments,  furniture,  utensils,  all  of  ancient  pagan  form, 
were  heaped  together,  without  order  or  arrangement  on 
the  floor,  to  a  height  of  full  fifteen  feet.  There  was  some- 
thing at  once  hideous  and  grotesque  in  the  appearance  of 
the  pile.     The  monstrous  figures  of  the  idols,  with  their 


ANTONIKA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         379 

rude  carved  draperies  and  symbolic  weapons,  lay  in  every 
wild  variety  of  position,  and  presented  every  startling  ec- 
centricity of  line,  more  especially  toward  the  higher  por- 
tions of  the  mass,  where  they  had  evidently  been  flung  up 
from  the  ground  by  the  hand  that  had  raised  the  structure. 
The  draperies  mixed  among  the  images  and  the  furniture 
were  here  coiled  serpent-like  around  them,  and  there  hung 
down  toward  the  ground,  waving  slow  and  solemn  in  the 
breezes  that  wound  through  the  temple  door-way.  The 
smaller  objects  of  gold  and  silver,  scattered  irregularly  over 
the  mass,  shone  out  from  it  like  gleaming  eyes;  while  the 
pile  itself,  seen  in  such  a  place  under  a  dusky  light,'  looked 
like  some  vast,  misshapen  monster  —  the  gloomy  embodi- 
ment of  the  bloodiest  superstitions  of  Paganism,  the  growth 
of  damp  airs  and  teeming  ruin,  of  shadow  and  darkness,  of 
accursed  and  infected  solitude  ! 

Even  in  its  position,  as  well  as  in  the  objects  of  which  it 
was  composed,  the  pile  wore  an  ominous  and  startling  as- 
pect; its  crooked  outline,  expanding  toward  the  top,  was 
bent  over  fearfully  in  the  direction  of  the  door- way;  it 
seemed  as  if  a  single  hand  might  sway  it  in  its  uncertain 
balance,  and  hurl  it  instantly  in  one  solid  mass  to  the  floor. 

Many  toilsome  hours  had  passed  away,  long,  secret  labor 
had  been  expended  in  the  erection  of  this  weird  and  totter- 
ing structure;  but  it  was  all  the  work  of  one  hand.  Night 
after  night  had  the  Pagan  entered  the  deserted  temples  in 
the  surrounding  streets,  and  pillaged  them  of  their  contents 
to  enrich  his  favored  shrine :  the  removal  of  the  idols  from 
their  appointed  places,  which  would  have  been  sacrilege  in 
any  meaner  man,  was  in  his  eyes  the  dread  privilege  of  the 
high-priest  alone.  He  had  borne  heavy  burdens,  and  torn 
asunder  strong  fastenings,  and  journeyed  and  journeyed 
again  for  hours  together  over  the  same  gloomy  streets,  with- 
out loitering  in  his  task;  he  had  raised  treasures  and  im- 
ages one  above  another;  he  had  strengthened  the  base  and 
heightened  the  summit  of  this  precious  and  sacred  heap; 
he  had  repaired  and  rebuilt,  whenever  it  crumbled  and  fell, 
this  new  Babel  that  he  longed  to  rear  to  the  Olympus  of 
the  temple  roof,  with  a  resolute  patience  and  perseverance 
that  no  failure  or  fatigue  could  overcome.  It  was  the  dear- 
est purpose  of  his  dreamy  superstition  to  surround  himself 


380         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  KOME. 

with  innumerable  deities,  as  well  as  to  assemble  innumera- 
ble worshipers ;  to  make  the  sacred  place  of  his  habitation  a 
mighty  Pantheon,  as  well  as  a  point  of  juncture  for  the  scat- 
tered congregations  of  the  Pagan  world.  This  was  the  am- 
bition in  which  his  madness  expanded  to  the  fiercest  fanati- 
cism ;  and  as  he  now  stood  erect  with  his  captives  beneath 
him,  his  glaring  eyes  looked  awe-struck  when  he  fixed  them 
on  his  idols;  he  uplifted  his  arms  in  solemn,  ecstatic  tri- 
umph, and  in  low  tones  poured  forth  his  invocations,  wild, 
intermingled,  and  fragmentary,  as  the  barbarous  altar  which 
his  solitary  exertions  had  reared. 

Whatever  was  the  effect  on  Numerian  of  his  savage  and 
confused  ejaculations,  they  were  unnoticed,  even  unheard 
by  Antonina;  for  now,  while  the  madman's  voice  softened 
to  an  under-tone,  and  while  she  hid  all  surrounding  objects 
from  her  eyes,  her  senses  were  awakened  to  sounds  in  the 
temple  which  she  had  never  remarked  before. 

The  rapid  current  of  the  Tiber  washed  the  foundation 
walls  of  one  side  of  the  building,  within  which  the  clear, 
lulling  bubble  of  the  water  was  audible  with  singular  dis- 
tinctness. But  besides  this  another  and  a  shriller  sound 
caught  the  ear.  On  the  summit  of  the  temple  roof  still  re- 
mained several  rows  of  little  gilt  bells,  originally  placed 
there,  partly  with  the  intention  of  ornamenting  this  portion 
of  the  outer  structure,  partly  in  order  that  the  noise  they 
produced,  when  agitated  by  the  wind,  might  scare  birds 
from  settling  in  their  flight  on  the  consecrated  edifice.  The 
sounds  produced  by  these  bells  were  silvery  and  high-pitch- 
ed ;  now,  when  the  breeze  was  strong,  they  rang  together 
merrily  and  continuously ;  now,  when  it  fell,  their  notes 
were  faint,  separate,  and  irregular — almost  plaintive  in  their 
pure  metallic  softness.  But  however  their  tone  might  vary 
under  the  capricious  influences  of  the  wind,  it  seemed  al- 
ways wonderfully  mingled,  within  the  temple,  with  the 
low,  eternal  bubbling  of  the  river,  which  filled  up  the  slight- 
est pauses  in  the  pleasant  chiming  of  the  bells,  and  ever  pre- 
served its  gentle  and  monotonous  harmony  just  audible  be- 
neath them. 

There  was  something  in  this  quaint,  unwonted  combina- 
tion of  sounds,  as  they  were  heard  in  the  vaulted  interior 
of  the  little  building,  strangely  simple,  attractive,  and  spirit- 


ANTONINA;    or,  the    fall   of   ROME.  381 

ual ;  the  longer  they  were  listened  to,  the  more  complete- 
ly did  the  mind  lose  the  recollection  of  their  real  origin, 
and  gradually  shape  out  of  them  wilder  and  wilder  fancies, 
until  the  bells,  as  they  rang  their  small  peal,  seemed  like 
happy  voices  of  a  heavenly  stream,  borne  lightly  onward 
on  its  airy  bubbles,  and  ever  rejoicing  over  the  gliding  cur- 
rent that  murmured  to  them  as  it  ran. 

Spite  of  the  peril  of  her  position,  and  of  the  terror  which 
still  fixed  her  speechless  and  crouching  on  the  giound,  the 
effect  on  Antonina  of  the  strange  mingled  music  of  the  run- 
ning water  and  the  bells  was  powerful  enough,  when  she 
first  heard  it,  to  suspend  all  her  other  emotions  in  a  moment- 
ary wonder  and  doubt.  She  withdrew  her  hands  from  her 
face,  and  glanced  round  mechanically  to  the  door-way,  as  if 
imagining  that  the  sounds  proceeded  from  the  street. 

When  she  looked,  the  declining  sun,  gliding  between  two 
of  the  outer  pillars  which  surrounded  the  temple,  covered 
with  a  bright  glow  the  smooth  pavement  before  the  en- 
trance. A  swarm  of  insects  flew  drowsily  round  and  round 
in  the  warm,  mellow  light — their  faint  monotonous  humming 
deepened,  rather  than  interrupted,  the  perfect  silence  pre- 
vailing over  all  things  without.  But  a  change  was  soon 
destined  to  appear  in  the  repose  of  the  quiet,  vacant  scene ; 
hardly  a  minute  had  elapsed  while  Antonina  still  looked  on 
it,  before  she  saw  stealing  over  the  sunny  pavement  a  dark 
shadow,  the  same  shadow  that  she  had  last  beheld  when  she 
stopped  in  her  flight  to  look  behind  her  in  the  empty  street. 
At  first  it  slowly  grew  and  lengthened,  then  it  remained 
stationary,  then  it  receded,  and  vanished  as  gradually  as  it 
had  advanced,  and  then  the  girl  heard,  or  fancied  that  she 
heard,  a  faint  sound  of  footsteps  retiring  along  the  lateral 
colonnades  toward  the  river  side  of  the  building. 

A  low  cry  of  horror  burst  from  her  lips  as  she  sank  back 
toward  her  father;  but  it  was  unheeded.  The  voice  of  Ul- 
pius  had  resumed  in  the  interval  its  hollow  loudness  of  tone; 
he  had  raised  Numerian  from  the  ground ;  his  strong,  cold 
grasp,  which  seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  old  man's  heart, 
which  held  him  motionless  and  helpless  as  if  by  a  fatal  spell, 
was  on  his  arm.  "  Hear  it !  hear  it !"  cried  the  Pagan,  wav- 
ing his  disengaged  hand,  as  if  he  were  addressing  a  vast  con- 
course of  people ;  "  I  advance  this  man  to  be  one  of  the  serv- 


382  AlWONlKA  ;    Oft,  THfi   I'ALL   O^   ROMB. 

ants  of  the  high-pi*iest !  He  has  traveled  from  a  far  country 
to  the  sacred  shrine ;  he  is  docile  and  obedient  before  the 
altar  of  the  gods;  the  lot  is  cast  for  his  future  life;  his 
dwelling  shall  be  in  the  temple  to  the  day  of  his  death! 
He  shall  minister  before  me  in  white  robes,  and  swing  the 
smoking  censer,  and  slay  the  sacrifice  at  my  feet !" 

He  stopped.  A  dark  and  sinister  expression  appeared  in 
his  eyes  as  the  word  "  sacrifice "  passed  his  lips ;  he  mut- 
tered doubtingly  to  himself,  "  The  sacrifice  !— is  it  yet  the 
hour  of  the  sacrifice?" — and  looked  round  toward  the  door- 
way. 

The  sun  still  shone  gayly  on  the  outer  pavement ;  the  in- 
sects still  circled  slowly  in  the  mellow  light ;  no  shadow 
was  now  visible,  no  distant  footsteps  were  heard  ;  there  was 
nothing  audible  but  the  happy  music  of  the  bubbling  wa- 
ter, and  the  chiming,  silvery  bells.  .  For  a  few  moments  the 
madman  looked  out  anxiously  toward  the  street,  without  ut- 
tering a  word  or  moving  a  muscle.  The  raving  fit  was  near 
possessing  him  again,  as  the  thought  of  the  sacrifice  flashed 
over  his  darkened  mind ;  but  once  more  its  approach  was 
delayed.  He  slowly  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the 
interior  of  the  temple.  "The  sun  is  still  bright  in  the  outer 
courts,"  he  murmured,  in  an  under-tone,  "  the  hour  of  the 
sacrifice  is  not  yet !  Come  !"  he  continued,  in  a  louder  voice, 
shaking  Numerian  by  the  arm, "  it  is  time  that  the  servant 
of  the  temple  should  behold  the  place  of  the  sacrifice,  and 
sharpen  the  knife  for  the  victim  before  sunset !  Arouse  thee, 
bondman,  and  follow  me  !" 

As  yet,  Numerian  had  neither  spoken  nor  attempted  to 
escape.  The  preceding  events,  though  some  space  has  been 
occupied  in  describing  them,  passed  in  so  short  a  period  of 
time,  that  he  had  not  hitherto  recovered  from  the  first  over- 
whelming shock  of  the  meeting  with  ITlpius.  But  now, 
awed  though  he  still  was,  he  felt  that  the  moment  of  the 
struggle  for  freedom  had  arrived. 

"Leave  me,  and  let  us  depart! — there  can  be  no  fellow- 
ship between  us  again  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  the  reckless 
courage  of  despair,  taking  the  hand  of  Antonina,  and  striv- 
ing to  free  himself  from  the  madman's  grasp.  But  the  effbrt 
was  vain;  Ulpius  tightened  his  hold,  and  laughed  in  tri- 
umph.    "  What !  the  servant  of  the  temple  is  in  terror  of 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  romb.  383 

the  high-priest,  and  shrinks  from  walking  in  the  place  of  the 
sacrifice!"  he  cried.  "Fear  not,  bondman  !  The  mightjr 
one,  who  rules  over  life  and  death,  and  time  and  futurity, 
deals  kindly  with  the  servant  of  his  choice!  Onward,  on- 
ward !  to  the  place  of  darkness  and  doom,  where  I  alone  am 
omnipotent,  and  all  others  are  creatures  who  tremble  and 
obey  !  To  thy  lesson,  learner !  by  sunset  the  victim  must 
be  crowned !" 

He  looked  round  on  Xumerian  for  an  instant,  as  he  pre- 
pared to  drag  him  forward ;  and  their  eyes  met.  In  the 
tierce  command  of  his  action,  and  the  savage  exultation  of 
his  glance,  the  father  saw  repeated  in  a  wilder  form  the  very 
attitude  and  expression  which  he  had  beheld  in  the  Pagan 
on  the  morning  of  the  loss  of  his  child.  All  the  circumstan- 
ces of  that  miserable  hour  —  the  vacant  bed-chamber  —  the 
banished  daughter — the  ^-iumph  of  the  betrayer — the  an- 
guish of  the  betrayed — rushed  over  his  mind,  and  rose  up 
before  it  vivid  as  a  pictured  scene  before  his  eyes.  He 
struggled  no  more;  the  powers  of  resistance  in  mind  and 
body  were  crushed  alike.  He  made  an  effort  to  remove 
Antonina  from  his  side,  as  if,  in  forgetfiilness  of  the  hidden 
enemy  without,  he  designed  to  urge  her  flight  through  the 
open  door,  while  the  madman's  attention  was  yet  distracted 
from  her.  But,  beyond  this  last  exertion  of  the  strong  in- 
stinct of  paternal  love,  every  other  active  emotion  seemed 
dead  within  him. 

Vainly  had  he  striven  to  disentangle  the  child  from  the 
fate  that  might  be  in  store  for  the  parent.  To  her  the  dread 
of  the  dark  shadow  on  the  pavement  was  superior  to  all 
other  apprehensions.  She  now  clung  more  closely  to  her  fa- 
ther, and  tightened  her  clasp  round  his  hand.  So,  when  the 
Pagan  advanced  into  the  interior  of  the  temple,  it  was  not 
Numerian  alone  who  followed  him  to  the  place  of  sacrifice, 
but  Antonina  as  well. 

They  moved  to  the  back  of  the  pile  of  idols.  Behind  it  ap- 
peared a  high  partition  of  gilt  and  inlaid  wood  reaching  to 
the  ceiling,  and  separating  the  outer  from  the  inner  part  of 
the  temple.  A  low  archway  passage,  protected  by  carved 
gates  similar  to  those  at  the  front  of  the  building,  had  been 
formed  in  the  partition;  and  through  this  Ulpius  and  his 
prisoners  now  passed  into  the  recess  beyond. 


384         ANTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

This  apartment  was  considerably  smaller  than  the  first 
hall  of  the  temple  which  they  had  just  left.  The  ceiling 
and  the  floor  both  sloped  downward  together;  and  here  the 
rippling  of  the  waters  of  the  Tiber  was  more  distinctly  au- 
dible to  them  than  in  the  outer  division  of  the  building.  At 
the  moment  when  they  entered  it,  the  place  was  very  dark ; 
the  pile  of  idols  intercepted  even  the  little  light  that  could 
have  been  admitted  through  its  narrow  entrance ;  but  the 
dense  obscurity  was  soon  dissipated.  Dragging  Numerian 
after  him  to  the  left  side  of  the  recess,  Ulpius  drew  back  a 
sort  of  wooden  shutter,  and  a  vivid  ray  of  light  immediately 
streamed  in  through  a  small  circular  opening  pierced  in  this 
part  of  the  temple. 

Then  there  became  apparent,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  apart- 
ment, a  vast  yawning  cavity  in  the  wall,  high  enough  to 
admit  a  man  without  stooping,  b«t  running  downward  al- 
most perpendicularly  to  some  lower  region,  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  see,  for  no  light  shot  upward  from  this  precipitous 
artificial  abyss,  in  the  darkness  of  which  the  eye  was  lost 
after  it  had  penetrated  to  the  distance  of  a  few  feet  only 
from  the  opening.  At  the  base  of  the  confined  space  thus 
visible  appeared  the  commencement  of  a  flight  of  steps,  ev- 
idently leading  far  downward  into  the  cavity.  On  the  ab- 
ruptly sloping  walls  which  bounded  it  on  all  sides  were 
painted,  in  the  brilliant  hues  of  ancient  fresco,  representa- 
tions of  the  deities  of  the  mythology — all  in  the  attitude  of 
descending  into  the  vault;  and  all  followed  by  figures  of 
nymphs  bearing  wreaths  of  flowers,  beautiful  birds,  and  oth- 
er similar  adjuncts  of  the  votive  ceremonies  of  Paganism. 
The  repulsive  contrast  between  the  bright  colors  and  grace- 
ful forms  presented  by  the  frescoes,  and  the  perilous  and 
gloomy  appearance  of  the  cavity  which  they  decorated,  in- 
creased remarkably  the  startling  significance  in  the  charac- 
ter of  the  whole  structure.  Its  past  evil  uses  seemed  ine- 
radicably  written  over  every  part  of  it,  as  past  crime  and 
torment  remain  ineradicably  written  on  the  human  face: 
the  mind  imbibed  from  it  terrifying  ideas  of  deadly  treach- 
ery, of  secret  atrocities,  of  frightful  refinements  of  torture, 
which  no  uninitiated  eye  had  ever  beheld  and  no  human  res- 
olution had  ever  been  powerful  enough  to  resist. 

But  the  impressions  thus  received  were  not  produced  only 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   KOME.  385 

by  what  was  seen  in  and  around  this  strange  vault,  but  by 
what  was  heard  there  besides.  The  wind  penetrated  t!ie 
cavity  at  some  distance,  and  through  some  opening  that 
could  not  be  beheld,  and  was  apparently  intercepted  in  its 
passage;  for  it  whistled  upward  toward  the  entrance  in 
shrill,  winding  notes ;  sometimes  producing  another  and 
nearer  sound,  resembling  the  clashing  of  many  small  metal- 
lic substances  violently  shaken  together.  The  noise  of  the 
wind,  as  well  as  the  bubbling  of  the  current  of  the  Tiber, 
seemed  to  proceed  tVom  a  greater  distance  than  appeared 
compatible  with  the  narrow  extent  of  the  back  part  of  the 
temple,  and  the  proximity  of  the  river  to  its  low  foundation 
walls.  It  was  evident  that  the  vault  only  reached  its  out- 
let after  it  had  wound  backward,  underneath  the  building, 
in  some  strange  complication  of  passages  or  labyrinth  of 
artificial  caverns,  which  might  have  been  built  long  since  as 
dungeons  for  the  living,  or  as  sepulchres  for  the  dead. 

"  The  place  of  the  sacrifice — aha !  the  j>lace  of  the  sacri- 
fice !"  cried  the  Pagan  exultingly,  as  he  drew  Numerian  to 
the  entrance  of  the  cavity,  and  solemnly  pointed  into  the 
darkness  beneath. 

The  father  gazed  steadily  into  the  chasm,  never  turning 
now  to  look  on  Antonina;  never  moving  to  renew  the  strug- 
gle for  freedom.  Earthly  loves  and  earthly  hopes  began  to 
fade  away  from  his  heart  —  he  was  praying.  The  solemn 
words  of  Chi'istian  supplication  fell  in  low,  murmuring 
sounds  from  his  lips,  in  the  place  of  idolatry  and  bloodshed, 
and  mingled  with  the  incoherent  ejaculations  of  the  mad- 
man who  kept  him  captive;  and  who  now  bent  his  glaring 
eyes  on  the  darkness  of  the  vault,  half  forgetful,  in  the 
gloomy  fascination  which  it  exercised  even  over  him,  of  the 
prisoners  whom  he  held  at  its  mouth. 

The  single  ray  of  light,  admitted  from  the  circular  aper- 
ture in  the  wall,  fell  wild  and  fantastic  over  the  widely-dif- 
fering figures  of  the  three,  as  they  stood  so  strangely  united 
together  before  the  abyss  that  opened  beneath  them.  The 
shadows  were  above  and  the  shadows  were  around ;  there 
was  no  light  in  the  ill-omened  place  but  the  one  vivid  ray 
that  streamed  over  the  gaunt  figure  of  Ulpius,  as  he  still 
pointed  into  the  darkness;  over  the  rigid  features  of  Nume- 
rian,  praying  in  the  bitterness  of  expected  death ;  and  over 

17 


386  AisrroxiNA ;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

the  frail,  youthful  form  of  Antonina,  as  she  nestled  trem- 
bling at  her  father's  side.  It  was  an  unearthly  and  a  sol- 
emn scene  ! 

Meanwhile  the  shadow  which  the  girl  liad  observed  on  the 
pavement  before  the  door-way  of  tlie  temple  now  appeared 
there  again,  but  not  to  retire  as  before;  for,  the  instant  af- 
ter, Goisvintha  stealthily  entered  the  outer  apartment  of  the 
building  left  vacant  by  its  first  occupants.  She  passed  soft- 
ly around  the  pile  of  idols,  looked  into  the  inner  recess  of 
the  temple,  and  saw  the  three  figures  standing  together  iiv 
the  ray  of  light,  gloomy  and  motionless,  before  the  mouth 
of  the  cavity.  Her  first  glance  fixed  on  the  Pagan — whom 
she  instinctively  doubted  and  dreaded;  whose  purpose  in 
keeping  captive  the  father  and  daughter  she  could  not  di- 
vine ;  her  next  was  directed  on  Antonina. 

The  girl's  position  was  a  guarded  one;  still  holding  her 
father's  hand,  she  was  partly  protected  by  his  body ;  and 
stood  unconsciously  beneath  the  arm  of  IJlpius,  as  it  was 
raised  while  he  grasped  Numerian's  shoulder.  Marking  this, 
and  remembering  that  Antonina  had  twice  escaped  her  al- 
ready, Goisvintha  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with 
cautious  step  and  lowering  brow,  began  to  retire  again  to- 
ward the  door-way  of  the  building,  "  Not  yet — not  yet  the 
time !"  she  muttered,  as  she  resumed  her  former  lurking- 
place;  "they  stand  where  the  light  is  over  them — the  girl 
is  watched  and  shielded — the  two  men  are  still  on  either 
side  of  her!  Not  yet  the  moment  of  the  blow;  the  stroke 
of  the  knife  must  be  sure  and  safe!  Sure,  for  this  time  she 
must  die  by  my  hand !  Safe,  for  I  have  other  vengeance  to 
wreak  besides  the  vengeance  on  her/  I,  who  have  been  pa- 
tient and  cunning  since  the  night  when  I  escaped  from  Aqui- 
leia,  will  be  patient  and  cunning  still !  If  she  passes  the 
door,  I  slay  her  as  she  goes  out ;  if  she  remains  in  the  tem- 
ple—" 

At  the  last  word,  Goisvintha  paused  and  gazed  upward ; 
the  setting  sun  threw  its  fiery  glow  over  her  haggard  face; 
her  eye  brightened  fiercely  in  the  full  light  as  she  looked. 
"The  darkness  is  at  hand  !"  she  continued  ;  "the  night  will 
be  thick  and  black  in  the  dim  halls  of  the  temple;  I  shall 
see  Aer  when  she  shall  not  see  7ue/ — the  darkness  is  coming; 
the  vengeance  is  sure  !" 


ANTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME,  387 

She  closed  her  lips,  and  with  fatal  perseverance  continued 
to  watch  and  wait,  as  she  had  resolutely  watched  and  wait- 
ed already.  The  Roman  and  the  Goth  ;  the  opposite  in  sex, 
nation,  and  fate;  the  madman  who  dreamed  of  the  sangui- 
nary superstitions  of  Paganism  before  the  temple  altar,  and 
the  assassin  who  brooded  over  the  chances  of  bloodshed 
beneath  the  temple  portico,  were  now  united  in  a  mysteri- 
ous identity  of  expectation,  uncommunicated  and  unsuspect- 
ed by  either  —  the  hour  when  the  sun  vanished  from  the 
heaven  was  the  hour  of  the  sacrijice  for  both. 

4c  :ic  4:  4^  %  =):  4: 

There  is  now  a  momentary  pause  in  the  progress  of 
events.  Occurrences  to  be  hereafter  related  render  it  neces- 
sary to  take  advantage  of  this  interval  to  inform  the  reader 
of  the  real  nature  and  use  of  the  vault  in  the  temple  wall, 
the  external  appearance  of  which  we  have  already  described. 

The  marking  peculiarity  in  the  construction  of  the  Pagan 
religion  may  be  most  aptly  compared  to  the  marking  pe- 
culiarity in  the  construction  of  the  Pagan  temples.  Both 
were  designed  to  attract  the  general  eye  by  the  outward  ef- 
fect only,  which  was  in  both  the  false,  delusive  reflection  of 
the  inward  substance.  In  the  temple,  the  people,  as  they 
worshiped  beneath  the  long  colonnades,  or  beheld  tlie  lofty 
porticoes  from  the  street,  were  left  to  imagine  the  corre- 
sponding majesty  and  symmetry  of  the  interior  of  the  struc- 
ture, and  were  not  admitted  to  discover  how  gi'ievously  it 
disappointed  the  brilliant  expectations  which  the  exterior 
was  so  well  calculated  to  inspire;  how  little  the  dark,  nar- 
row halls  of  the  idols,  the  secret  vaults  and  gloomy  recesses 
within,  fulfilled  the  promise  of  the  long  flights  of  steps,  the 
broad  extent  of  pavement,  the  massive  sun-brightened  pil- 
lars without.  So  in  the  religion,  the  votary  was  allured  by 
the  splendor  of  processions;  by  the  pomp  of  auguries;  by 
the  poetry  of  the  superstition  which  peopled  his  native 
woods  with  the  sportive  Dryads,  and  the  fountains  from 
which  he  drank  with  their  guardian  Naiads;  which  gave  to 
mountain  and  lake,  to  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  to  all  things 
around  and  above  him,  their  fantastic  allegory,  or  their  gra- 
cious legend  of  beauty  and  love:  but  beyond  this  his  first 
acquaintance  with  his  worship  was  not  permitted  to  extend, 
here  his  initiation  concluded.     He  was  kept  in  ignorance  of 


388  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

the  dark  and  dangerous  depths  which  lurked  beneath  this 
smooth  and  attractive  surface ;  he  was  left  to  imagine  that 
what  was  displayed  was  but  the  prelude  to  the  future  dis- 
covery of  what  was  hidden  of  beauty  in  the  rites  of  Pagan- 
ism; he  was  not  admitted  to  behold  the  wretched  impos- 
tures, the  loathsome  orgies,  the  hideous  incantations,  the 
bloody  human  sacrifices  perpetrated  in  secret,  which  made 
the  foul  real  substance  of  the  fair  exterior  form.  Ilis  first 
sight  of  the  temple  was  not  less  successful  in  deceiving  his 
eye,  than  his  first  impression  of  the  religion  in  deluding  his 
mind. 

With  these  hidden  and  guilty  mysteries  of  the  Pagan 
worship  the  vault  before  which  Ulpius  now  stood  with  his 
captives  was  intimately  connected. 

The  human  sacrifices  offered  among  the  Romans  were  of 
two  kinds  —  those  publicly  and  those  privately  performed. 
The  first  were  of  annual  recurrence  in  the  early  years  of  the 
Republic ;  were  prohibited  at  a  later  date ;  were  revived  by 
Augustus,  who  sacrificed  his  prisoners  of  war  at  the  altar  of 
Julius  Caesar;  and  were  afterward — though  occasionally  re- 
newed for  particular  purposes  under  some  subsequent  reigns 
— wholly  abandoned  as  part  of  the  ceremonies  of  Paganism 
during  the  latter  periods  of  the  empire. 

The  sacrifices  perpetrated  in  private  were  much  longer 
practiced.  They  were  connected  with  the  most  secret  mys- 
teries of  the  mythology  ;  were  concealed  from  the  super- 
vision of  government;  and  lasted  probably  until  the  gener- 
al extinction  of  heathen  superstition  in  Italy  and  the  prov- 
inces. Many  and  various  were  the  receptacles  constructed 
for  the  private  immolation  of  human  victims  in  different 
parts  of  the  empire — in  its  crowded  cities  as  well  as  in  its 
solitary  woods — and  among  all,  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
and  the  longest  preserved  was  the  great  cavity  pierced  in 
the  wall  of  the  temple  which  Ulpius  had  chosen  for  his  soli- 
tary lurking-place  in  Rome. 

It  was  not  merely  as  a  place  of  concealment  for  the  act 
of  immolation,  and  for  the  corpse  of  the  victim,  that  the 
vault  had  been  built.  A  sanguinary  artifice  had  compli- 
cated the  manner  of  its  construction,  by  placing  in  the  cav- 
ity itself  the  instrument  of  the  sacrifice ;  by  making  it,  as  it 
were,  not  merely  the  receptacle,  but  the  devourer  also,  of 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  389 

i?;s  hiiman  prey.  At  the  bottom  of  the  flight  of  steps  lead- 
ing dowu  into  it  (the  top  of  which,  as  we  have  already  ob- 
served, was  alone  visible  from  the  entrance  in  the  temple 
recess)  was  fixed  the  image  of  a  dragon  formed  in  brass. 

The  body  of  the  monster,  protruding  opposite  the  steps 
almost  at  a  right  angle  from  the  wall,  was  moved  in  all  di- 
rections by  steel  springs,  which  communicated  with  one  of 
the  lower  stairs,  and  also  with  a  sword  placed  in  the  throat 
of  the  image  to  represent  the  dragon's  tongue.  The  walls 
around  the  steps  narrowed,  so  as  barely  to  admit  the  pas- 
sage of  the  human  body  when  they  approaclied  the  di'agon. 
At  the  slightest  pressure  on  the  stair  with  which  the  spring 
communicated,  the  body  of  the  monster  bent  forward,  and 
the  sword  instantly  protruded  from  its  throat  at  such  a 
height  from  the  steps  as  insured  that  it  should  transfix  in 
a  vital  part  the  person  who  descended.  The  corpse,  then 
dropping  by  its  own  weight  olF  the  sword,  fell  through  a 
tunneled  opening  beneath  the  dragon,  running  downward  in 
an  opposite  direction  to  that  taken  by  the  steps  above;  and 
was  deposited  on  an  iron  grating  washed  by  the  waters  of 
the  Tiber,  which  ran  under  the  arched  foundations  of  tlie 
temple.  The  grating  was  approached  by  a  secret  subterra- 
nean passage,  leading  from  the  front  of  the  building,  by 
which  the  sacrificing  priests  were  enabled  to  reach  the  dead 
body ;  to  fasten  weights  to  it ;  and,  opening  the  grating,  to 
drop  it  into  the  river,  never  to  be  beheld  again  by  mortal 
eyes. 

In  the  days  when  this  engine  of  destruction  was  permit- 
ted to  serve  the  purpose  for  which  the  horrible  ingenuity 
of  its  inventors  had  constructed  it,  its  principal  victims  were 
young  girls.  Crowned  with  flowers  and  clad  in  w  hite  gar- 
ments, they  were  lured  into  immolating  themselves,  by  be- 
ing furnished  with  rich  ofleriugs,  and  told  that  the  sole  ob- 
ject of  their  fatal  expedition  down  the  steps  of  the  vault 
was  to  realize  the  pictures  adorning  its  walls  (which  we 
have  described,  a  few  pages  back),  by  presenting  their  gifts 
at  the  shrine  of  the  idol  below. 

At  the  period  of  which  w- e  write,  the  dragon  had  for  many 
y^ars — since  the  first  prohibitions  of  Paganism — ceased  to 
be  tied  with  its  wonted  prey.  The  scales  forming  its  body 
grew  gradually  corroded  and  loosened  by  the  damp ;  and 


390  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME. 

when  moved  by  the  wind  which  penetrated  to  them  from 
beneath,  whistling  up  in  its  tortuous  course  through  the 
tunnel  that  ran  in  one  direction  below,  and  the  vault  of  the 
steps  that  ascended  in  another  above,  j)roduced  the  clash- 
ing sound  which  has  been  mentioned  as  audible  at  intervals 
from  the  mouth  of  the  cavity.  But  the  springs  which  moved 
the  deadly  apparatus  of  the  whole  machine  being  placed 
within  it  under  cover,  continued  to  resist  the  slow  progress 
of  time  and  neglect,  and  still  remained  as  completely  fitted 
as  ever  to  execute  the  fatal  purpose  for  which  they  had  been 
designed. 

The  ultimate  destiny  of  the  dragon  of  brass  was  the  des- 
tiny of  the  religion  whose  bloodiest  superstitions  it  em- 
bodied; it  fell  beneath  the  resistless  advance  of  Chrif^tian- 
ity.  Shortly  after  the  date  of  our  nairative,  the  interior  of 
the  building  beneath  which  it  was  placed  having  suffered 
from  an  accident,  which  will  be  related  farther  on,  the  ex- 
terior was  dismantled,  in  order  that  its  pillars  might  fur- 
nish materials  for  a  church.  The  vault  in  the  wall  was  ex- 
plored by  a  monk,  who  had  been  present  at  the  destruction 
of  other  Pagan  temples,  and  who  volunteered  to  discover  its 
contents.  With  a  torch  in  one  hand  and  an  iron  bar  in  the 
other,  he  descended  into  the  cavity,  sounding  the  walls  and 
the  steps  before  him  as  he  proceeded.  P^or  the  first  and  the 
last  time  the  sword  protruded  harmless  from  the  monster's 
throat,  when  the  monk  pressed  the  fatal  stair,  before  step- 
ping on  it,  with  his  iron  bar.  The  same  day  the  machine 
was  destroyed  and  cast  into  the  Tiber,  w-here  its  victims  had 
been  thrown  before  it  in  former  years. 

4:  ♦  iC  *  «  4:  * 

Some  minutes  have  elapsed  since  we  left  the  father  and 
daughter  standing  by  the  Pagan's  side,  before  the  mouth  of 
the  vault;  and  as  yet  there  appears  no  change  in  the  sev- 
eral positions  of  the  three.  But  already,  while  Ulpius  still 
looks  down  steadfastly  into  the  cavity  at  his  feet,  his  voice, 
as  he  continues  to  speak,  grows  louder,  and  his  words  be- 
come more  distinct.  Fearful  recollections  associated  with 
the  place  are  beginning  to  stir  his  weary  memory,  to  lift  the 
darkness  of  oblivion  from  his  idle  thoughts. 

"They  go  down,  far  down  there  !"  he  abruptly  exclaimed, 
pointing  into  the  black  depths  of  the  vault,  "and  never 


axtoxixa;   or,  the  fall  of  rome.  391 

arise  again  to  the  light  of  the  upper  earth  !  The  great  De- 
stroyer is  watchful  in  his  solitude  beneath,  and  looks  through 
the  darkness  for  their  approach  !  Hark  !  the  hissing  of  his 
breath  is  like  the  clash  of  weapons  in  a  deadly  strife !" 

At  this  moment  the  w'ind  moved  the  loose  scales  of  the 
dragon.  During  an  instant  Ulpius  remained  silent,  listening 
to  the  noise  they  produced.  For  the  lirst  time  an  expres- 
sion of  dread  appeared  in  his  face.  His  memory  was  obscure- 
ly reviving  the  incidents  of  his  discovery  of  the  deadly  ma- 
chinery in  the  vault,  when  he  first  made  his  sojourn  in  tlie 
temple,  when — filled  with  the  confused  remembrance  of  the 
mysterious  rites  and  incantations,  the  secret  sacrifices  which 
he  had  witnessed  and  performed  at  Alexandria  —  he  had 
found  and  followed  the  subterranean  passage  w^hich  led  to 
the  iron  grating  beneath  the  dragon.  As  the  wind  lulled 
again,  and  the  clashing  of  the  metal  ceased  with  it,  he  be- 
gan to  give  these  recollections  expression  in  words,  uttering 
them  in  slow,  solemn  accents  to  himself. 

"I  have  seen  the  Destroyer;  the  Invisible  has  revealed 
himself  to  me!''''  he  murmured.  "I  stood  on  the  iron  bars; 
the  restless  w^aters  toiled  and  struggled  beneath  my  feet,  as 
I  looked  up  into  the  place  of  darkness.  A  voice  called  to 
me, '  Get  light,  and  behold  me  from  above !  Get  light !  get 
light!'  Sun,  and  moon,  and  stars  gave  no  light  there!  but 
lamps  burned  in  the  city,  in  the  houses  of  the  dead,  when  I 
walked  by  them  in  the  night-time ;  and  the  lamp  gave  light, 
when  sun  and  moon  and  stars  gave  none  !  From  the  top 
steps  I  looked  down,  and  saw  the  Powerful  One  in  his  gold- 
en brightness ;  and  approached  not,  but  w\'itched  and  listen- 
ed in  fear.  The  voice  again  I — the  voice  wns  heard  again  ! 
'  Sacrifice  to  me  in  secret,  as  thy  brethren  sacrifice !  Give 
me  the  living  where  the  living  are !  and  the  dead  where  the 
dead  !'  The  air  came  up  cold,  and  the  voice  ceased,  and  the 
lamp  was  like  sun  and  moon  and  stars — it  gave  no  light  in 
the  place  of  darkness !" 

While  he  spoke,  the  loose  metal  again  clashed  in  the  vault, 
for  the  wind  was  strengthening  as  the  evening  advanced. 
"  Hark !  the  signal  to  prepare  the  sacrifice !"  cried  the  Pa- 
gan, turning  abruptly  to  Numerian;  "Listen,  bondman  !  the 
living  and  the  dead  are  within  our  reach.  The  breath  of 
the  Invisible  strikes  them  in  the  street  and  in  the  house: 


392  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome. 

they  stagger  in  the  highways,  and  drop  at  the  temple  steps. 
When  the  hour  comes,  we  shall  go  forth  and  find  them. 
Under  my  hand  they  go  down  into  the  cavern  beneath. 
Whether  they  are  hurled  dead,  or  whether  they  go  down 
living,  tliey  fall  through  to  the  iron  bars,  where  the  water 
leaps  and  rejoices  to  receive  them !  It  is  mine  to  saci'ifiee 
them  above,  and  thine  to  wait  for  them  below,  to  lift  the 
bars,  and  give  them  to  the  river  to  be  swallowed  up !  The 
dead  drop  down  first ;  the  living  that  are  slain  by  the  De- 
stroyer follow  after !" 

Here  be  paused  suddenly.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  his 
eye  rested  on  Antonina,  whose  very  existence  he  seemed 
hitherto  to  have  forgotten.  A  revolting  smile  of  mingled 
cunning  and  satisfaction  instantly  changed  the  whole  char- 
acter of  his  countenance,  as  he  gazed  on  lier,  and  then  look- 
ed round  significantly  to  the  vault.  "Here  is  one!"  he 
whispered  to  Numerian,  taking  her  by  the  arm.  "Keep  her 
captive — the  hour  is  near !" 

Nuraerian  had  hitherto  stood  unheedful  while  he  spoke; 
but  when  he  touched  Antonina,  the  bare  action  was  enough 
to  arouse  the  father  to  resistance — hopeless  though  it  was — 
once  more.  He  shook  off  the  grasp  ofUlpius  from  tlie  girl's 
arm,  and  drew  back  with  her — breathless,  vigilant,  desper- 
ate— to  the  side  wall  behind  him. 

The  madman  laughed  in  proud  approval.  "My  bondman 
obeys  me  and  seizes  the  captive !"  he  cried.  "  He  remem- 
bers that  the  hour  is  near,  and  loosens  not  his  hold  !  Come  !" 
he  continued,  "  come  out  into  the  hall  beyond  ! — it  is  time 
that  we  watch  for  more  victims  for  the  sacrifice  till  the  sun 
goes  down.    The  Destroyer  is  mighty  and  must  be  obeyed  !" 

He  walked  to  the  entrance  leading  into  the  first  apartment 
of  the  temple,  and  then  waited  to  be  followed  by  Numerian, 
who — now  for  the  first  time  separated  fromUlpius — remain- 
ed stationary  in  the  position  he  had  last  occupied,  and  look- 
ed eagerly  around  him.  No  chance  of  escape  presented  it- 
self; the  mouth  of  the  vault  on  one  side,  and  the  passage 
through  the  partition  on  the  other,  were  the  only  outlets  to 
the  place.  Tiiere  was  no  hope  but  to  follow  the  Pagan  into 
the  great  hall  of  the  temple,  to  keep  carefully  at  a  distance 
from  him,  and  to  watch  the  opportunity  of  flight  through 
the  door -way.     The  street,  so  desolate  when  last  beheld, 


AJITONTNA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME.  393 

might  now  afford  more  evidence  that  it  was  inhabited.  •  Cit- 
izens, guards  might  be  passing  by,  and  might  be  summoned 
into  the  temple — help  might  be  at  hand. 

As  he  moved  forward  with  Autonina,  such  thoughts  pass- 
ed rapidly  through  the  father's  mind,  unaccompanied  at  the 
moment  by  the  recollection  of  the  stranger  who  had  follow- 
ed them  from  the  Pincian  Gate,  or  of  the  apathy  of  the  fam- 
ished populace  in  aiding  each  other  in  any  emergency.  See- 
ing that  he  was  followed  as  he  had  commanded,  Ulpius  pass- 
ed on  before  them  to  the  pile  of  idols  ;  but  a  strange  and 
sudden  alteration  appeared  in  his  gait.  He  had  hitherto 
walked  with  the  step  of  a  man — young,  strong,  and  resolute 
of  purpose ;  now  he  dragged  one  limb  after  the  other,  as 
slowly  and  painfully  as  if  he  had  received  a  mortal  hurt. 
He  tottered  with  more  than  the  infirmity  of  his  age ;  his 
head  dropped  upon  his  breast;  and  he  moaned  and  murmur- 
ed inarticulately,  in  low,  long-drawn  cries. 

He  had  advanced  to  the  side  of  the  pile,  half-way  toward 
the  door-way  of  the  temple,  when  Xumerian,  who  had  watch- 
ed with  searching  eyes  the  abrupt  change  in  his  demeanor, 
forgetting  the  dissimulation  which  might  still  be  all-impor- 
tant, abandoned  himself  to  his  first  impulse,  and  hurriedly 
pressing  forward  with  Antonina,  attempted  to  pass  the  Pa- 
gan, and  escape.  But  at  the  moment  Ulpius  stopped  in  his 
slow  progress,  reeled,  threw  out  his  hands  convulsively,  and 
seizing  Numerian  by  the  arm,  staggered  back  with  him 
against  the  side  wall  of  the  temple.  The  fingers  of  the  tor- 
tured wretch  closed  as  if  they  were  never  to  be  unlocked 
again — closed  as  if  with  the  clutch  of  death,  with  the  last 
frantic  grasp  of  a  drowning  man. 

For  days  and  nights  past  he  had  toiled  incessantly  under 
the  relentless  tyranny  of  his  frenzy,  building  up  higher  and 
higher  his  altar  of  idols,  and  pouring  forth  his  invocations 
before  his  gods  in  the  place  of  the  sacrifice  ;  and  now,  at  the 
moment  when  he  was  most  triumphant  in  his  ferocious  ac- 
tivity of  purpose,  when  his  fancied  bondman  and  his  fancied 
victim  were  most  helpless  at  his  command — now,  when  his 
strained  faculties  were  strung  to  their  highest  pitch,  the 
long-deferred  paroxysm  had  seized  him  which  was  the  pre- 
cursor of  his  repose,  of  the  only  repose  granted  by  his  aw- 
ful fate — a  change  (the  mournful  change  already  described) 

17* 


394         AXTONINA  ;  OK,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

in  the  form  of  his  insanity.  For  at  those  rare  periods  when 
he  slejjt,  his  sleep  was  not  unconsciousness,  not  rest :  it  was 
a  trance  of  hideous  dreams — his  tongue  spoke,  liis  limbs 
moved,  when  he  slumbered  as  when  he  woke.  It  was  only 
when  his  visions  of  the  pride,  the  power,  the  tierce  conflicts, 
and  daring  resolutions  of  his  maturer  years  gave  place  to 
his  dim,  quiet,  waking  dreams  of  his  boyish  days,  that  his 
wasted  faculties  reposed,  and  his  body  rested  with  them  in 
the  motionless  languor  of  perfect  fatigue.  Then,  if  words 
were  still  uttered  by  his  lips,  they  were  as  murmurs  of  an 
infant,  happy  sleep ;  for  the  innocent  phrases  of  his  child- 
hood which  they  then  revived  seemed  for  a  time  to  bring 
with  them  the  innocent  tranquillity  of  his  childhood  as  well. 

"Go!  go! — fly  while  you  are  yet  free!"  cried  Xumerian, 
dropping  the  hand  of  Antonina,  and  pointing  to  the  door. 
But  for  a  second  time  the  girl  refused  to  move  forward  a 
step.  No  horror,  no  peril  in  the  tem[)le,  could  banish  for  an 
instant  her  remembrance  of  the  night  at  the  flirm-house  in 
the  suburbs.  Siie  kept  her  head  turned  toward  the  vacant 
entrance,  fixed  her  eyes  on  it  in  the  unintermittihg  watch- 
fulness of  terror,  and  whispered  afliightedly,  "  Goisvinlha  ! 
Goisvintha  !"  when  her  father  spoke. 

The  clasp  of  the  Pagan's  fingers  remained  fixed  and  death- 
like as  at  fii'st;  he  leaned  back  against  the  wall,  as  still  as 
if  life  and  action  had  forever  departed  from  him.  The  par- 
oxysm had  passed  away ;  his  face,  distorted  but  the  moment 
before,  was  now  in  repose,  but  it  was  a  repose  that  was  aw- 
ful to  look  on.  Tears  rolled  slowly  from  his  half-closed  eyes 
over  his  seamed  and  wrinkled  cheeks  —  tears  which  were 
not  the  impressive  expression  of  mental  anguish  (for  a  va- 
cant, unchanging  smile  was  on  his  lips),  but  the  mere  me- 
chanical outburst  of  the  physical  weakness  that  the  past  cri- 
sis of  agony  had  left  behind  it.  Not  the  slightest  appear- 
ance of  thought  or  observation  was  perceptible  in  his  fea- 
tures; his  face  was  the  face  of  an  idiot. 

Numerian,  who  had  looked  on  him  for  an  instant,  shud- 
dered, and  averted  his  eyes,  recoiling  from  the  sight  before 
him.  But  a  more  overpowering  trial  of  his  resolution  was 
approaching,  which  he  could  not  avoid.  Ere  long  the  voice 
of  Ulpius  grew  audible  once  more ;  but  now  its  tones  were 
weak,  piteous,  almost  childish,  and  the  words  they  uttered 


AXTONIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  395 

were  quiet  words  of  love  and  gentleness,  which,  dropping 
from  such  lips,  and  pronounced  in  such  a  place,  were  fearful 
to  hear.  The  temple,  and  all  that  was  in  it,  vanished  from 
his  sight,  as  from  his  memory.  Swayed  by  the  dread  and 
supernatural  influences  of  his  disease,  the  madman  passed 
back  in  an  instant  over  the  dark  valley  of  life's  evil  pilgrim- 
age to  the  long-quitted  precincts  of  his  boyish  home.  While 
in  bodily  presence  he  stood  in  the  place  of  his  last  crimes, 
the  outcast  of  reason  and  humanity,  in  mental  consciousness 
he  lay  in  his  mothers  arms,  as  he  had  lain  there  ere  yet  he 
had  departed  to  the  temple  at  Alexandria;  and  his  heart 
communed  with  her  heart,  and  his  eyes  looked  on  her  as 
they  had  looked  before  his  father's  fatal  ambition  had  sepa- 
rated forever  parent  and  child  I 

"Mother! — come  back,  mother!"  he  whispered.  "I  was 
not  asleep;  I  saw  you  when  you  came  in,  and  sat  by  my 
bedside,  and  wept  over  me  when  you  kissed  me!  Come 
back,  and  sit  by  me  still!  I  am  going  away,  far  away,  and 
may  never  hear  your  voice  again  !  How  happy  we  should 
be,  mother,  if  I  staid  with  you  always !  But  it  is  ray  fa- 
ther's will  that  I  should  go  to  the  temple  in  another  coun- 
try, and  live  there  to  be  a  priest ;  and  his  will  must  be 
obeyed.  I  may  never  return ;  but  we  shall  not  forget  one 
another!  I  shall  remember  i/oio'  words,  when  we  used  to 
talk  together  happily,  and  you  will  remember  miyieP'' 

Hardly  had  the  first  sentence  been  uttered  by  Ulpius, 
when  Antonina  felt  her  father's  whole  frame  suddenly  trem- 
ble at  her  side.  She  turned  her  eyes  from  the  door-way,  on 
which  they  had  liitherto  been  fixed,  and  looked  on  him. 
The  Pagan's  hand  had  fallen  from  his  arm :  he  was  free  to 
depart,  to  fly  as  he  had  longed  to  fly  but  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore, and  yet  he  never  stirred.  His  daughter  touched  him, 
spoke  to  him ;  but  he  neither  moved  nor  answered.  It  was 
not  merely  the  shock  of  the  abrupt  transition  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Ulpius  from  the  ravings  of  crime  to  the  murmurs 
of  love  —  it  was  not  merely  astonishment  at  hearing  from 
him,  in  his  madness,  revelations  of  his  early  life  which  had 
never  passed  his  lips  during  his  days  of  ti'eacherous  servi- 
tude in  the  house  on  the  Pincian  Hill,  that  thus  filled  Nu- 
merian's  inmost  soul  with  awe,  and  struck  his  limbs  motion- 
less.    There  was  more  in  all  that  he  heard  than  this.     The 


396  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

words  seemed  as  words  that  had  doomed  him  at  once  and 
forever.  His  eyes,  directed  full  on  the  face  of  the  madman, 
were  dilated  with  horror;  his  deep,  gasping,  convulsive 
breathings  mingled  heavily,  during  the  moment  of  silence 
that  ensued,  with  the  chiming  of  the  bells  above,  and  the 
bubbling  of  the  water  below — the  lulling  music  of  the  tem- 
ple, playing  its  happy  evening  hymn  at  the  pleasant  close 
of  day ! 

"  We  shall  remember,  mother  ! — we  shall  remember !"  con- 
tinued the  Pagan,  softly,  "  and  be  happy  in  our  remem- 
brances !  My  brother,  who  loves  me  not,  will  love  you 
when  I  am  gone !  You  will  walk  in  my  little  garden,  and 
think  on  me  as  you  look  at  the  flowers  that  we  have  plant- 
ed and  watered  together  in  the  evening  hours,  when  the  sky 
was  glorious  to  behold,  and  the  earth  was  all  quiet  around 
us!  Listen,  motlier,  and  kiss  me!  When  I  go  to  the  far 
country,  I  will  make  a  garden  there  like  ray  garden  here; 
and  plant  the  same  flowers  that  we  have  planted  here;  and 
in  the  evening  I  will  go  out  and  give  them  water,  at  the 
hour  when  you  go  out  to  give  my  flowers  water  at  home; 
and  so,  though  we  see  each  other  no  more,  it  will  yet  be  as 
if  we  labored  together  in  the  garden,  as  we  labor  now  !" 

The  girl  still  fixed  her  eager  gaze  on  her  father.  His 
eyes  presented  the  same  rigid  expression  of  horror ;  but  he 
was  now  wiping  ofl"  with  his  own  hand  mechanically,  as  if  he 
knew  it  not,  the  foam  which  the  paroxysms  had  left  round 
the  madman's  lips;  and,  amidst  the  groans  that  burst  from 
him,  she  could  hear  such  words  as,  "Lord  God! — Mercy, 
Lord  God !  Thou,  who  hast  thus  restored  him  to  me — thus, 
worse  than  dead  ! — Mercy  !  mercy  !" 

The  light  on  the  pavement  beneath  the  portico  of  the 
temple  was  fading  visibly — the  sun  had  gone  down. 

For  the  third  time  the  madman  spoke,  but  his  tones  were 
losing  their  softness ;  they  were  complaining,  plaintive,  un- 
utterably mournful;  his  dreams  of  the  past  were  already 
changing.  "Farewell,  brother;  farewell  for  years  and 
years!"  he  cried.  "You  have  not  given  me  the  love  that 
I  gave  you;  the  fault  was  not  mine  that  our  father  loved 
me  the  best,  and  chose  me  to  be  sent  to  the  temple,  to  be 
a  priest  at  the  altar  of  the  gods !  The  fault  was  not  mine 
that  I  partook  not  in  your  favored  sports,  and  joined  not 


axtonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  397 

the  companions  whom  you  sought;  it  was  our  father's  will 
that  I  should  not  live  as  you  lived,  and  I  obeyed  it !  You 
have  spoken  to  me  in  anger,  and  turned  from  me  in  dis- 
dain ;  but  farewell  again,  Cleander,  farewell  in  forgiveness 
and  in  love !" 

He  might  have  spoken  more,  but  his  voice  was  drowned 
in  one  long  shriek  of  agony  which  burst  from  Numerian's 
lips,  and  echoed  discordantly  through  the  hall  of  the  tem- 
ple, and  he  sank  down  with  his  face  to  the  ground  at  the 
Pagan's  feet.  The  dark  and  terrible  destiny  was  fulfilled ! 
The  enthusiast  for  the  right,  and  the  fanatic  for  the  wrong; 
the  man  who  had  toiled  to  reform  the  Church,  and  the  man 
who  had  toiled  to  restore  the  Temple ;  the  master  who  had 
received  and  trusted  the  servant  in  his  home,  and  the  serv- 
ant who  in  that  home  had  betrayed  the  master's  trust ;  the 
two  characters,  separated  hitherto  in  the  sublime  disunion 
of  good  and  bad,  now  struck  together  in  tremendous  con- 
tact, as  brethren  who  had  drawn  their  life  from  one  source; 
who,  as  children,  had  been  sheltered  under  the  same  roof! 

Not  in  the  hour  when  the  good  Christian  succored  the 
forsaken  Pagan,  wandering  homeless  in  Rome,  was  the  se- 
cret disclosed ;  no  chance  word  of  it  was  uttered  when  the 
deceiver  told  the  feigned  relation  of  his  life  to  the  benefac- 
tor whom  he  was  plotting  to  deceive  ;  or  when,  on  the  first 
morning  of  the  siege,  the  machinations  of  the  servant  tri- 
umphed over  the  confidence  of  the  master:  it  was  reserved 
to  be  revealed  in  the  words  of  delirium,  at  the  closing  years 
•  of  madness,  when  he  who  discovered  it  was  unconscious  of. 
all  that  he  spoke,  and  his  eyes  were  blinded  to  the  true 
nature  of  all  that  he  saw ;  when  earthly  voices  that  might 
once  have  called  him  back  to  repentance,  to  recognition,  and 
to  love,  were  become  to  him  as  sounds  that  have  no  mean- 
ing; when,  by  n  ruthless  and  startling  fatality,  it  was  on 
the  brother  who  had  wrought  for  the  true  faith  that  the 
whole  crushing  weight  of  the  terrible  disclosure  fell,  unpar- 
taken  by  the  brother  who  had  wrought  for  the  false !  But 
the  judgments  pronounced  in  Time,  go  forth  from  the  tri- 
bunal of  that  Eternity  to  wliich  the  mysteries  of  life  tend, 
and  in  which  they  shall  be  revealed  —  neither  waiting  on 
human  seasons  nor  abiding  by  human  justice,  but  speaking 
to  the  soul  in  the  language  of  immortality,  which  is  heard 


398         ANTONIXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  KOME. 

in  the  av  orld  that  is  now,  and  interpreted  in  the  world  that 
is  to  come. 

Lost,  for  an  instant,  even  the  recollection  that  Goisviutha 
might  still  be  watching  her  opportunity  from  without,  call- 
ing despairingly  on  her  father,  and  vainly  striving  to  raise 
him  from  the  ground,  Antonina  remembered  not,  in  the  over- 
whelming trial  of  the  moment,  the  revelations  of  Numerian's 
past  life  that  had  been  disclosed  to  her  in  the  days  when  the 
famine  was  at  its  worst  in  Rome.  The  name  of  "  Clean- 
der,"  which  she  had  then  heard  her  father  pronounce,  as  the 
name  that  he  had  abandoned  when  he  separated  himself 
from  the  companions  of  his  sinful  choice,  passed  unheeded 
by  her  when  the  Pagan  unconsciously  uttered  it.  Slie  saw 
the  whole  scene  but  as  a  fresh  menace  of  danger,  as  a  new 
vision  of  terror,  more  ominous  of  ill  than  all  that  had  pre- 
ceded it. 

Thick  as  was  the  darkness  in  which  the  lulling  and  invol- 
untary memories  of  the  past  had  enveloped  the  perceptions 
of  Ulpius,  the  father's  piercing  cry  of  anguish  seemed  to 
have  penetrated  it,  as  with  a  sudden  ray  of  light.  The  mad- 
man's half-closed  eyes  opened  instantly,  and  fixedly,  dream- 
ily at  first,  on  the  altar  of  idols.  He  waved  his  hands  to 
and  fro  before  him,  as  if  he  were  parting  back  the  folds 
of  a  heavy  veil  that  obscured  his  sight;  but  his  wayward 
thoughts  did  not  resume,  as  yet,  their  old  bias  toward  fe- 
rocity and  crime.  When  he  spoke  again,  his  speech  was  still 
inspired  by  the  visions  of  his  early  life — but  now  of  his  ear- 
ly life  in  the  Temple  at  Alexandria.  His  expressions  were 
more  abrupt,  more  disjointed  than  before ;  yet  they  contin- 
ued to  display  the  same  evidence  of  the  mysterious,  instinct- 
ive vividness  of  recollection,  which  was  the  result  of  the 
sudden  change  in  the  nature  of  his  insanity.  His  language 
wandered  (still  as  if  the  words  came  from  him  undesignedly 
and  unconsciously)  over  the  events  of  his  boyish  introduc- 
tion to  the  service  of  the  gods,  and,  though  confusing  them 
in  order,  still  preserved  tliem  in  substance,  as  they  have  been 
already  related  in  the  history  of  his  "apprenticeship  to  the 
Temple." 

Now  he  was,  in  imagination,  looking  down  once  more 
from  the  summit  of  the  Temple  of  Serapis  on  the  glittering 
expanse  of  the  Nile  and  the  wide  country  around  it;  and 


antonina;  ok,  the  fall  of  rome.  399 

now  he  was  walking  proudly  through  the  streets  of  Alex- 
andria by  the  side  of  his  uncle,  Macrinus,  the  high-priest. 
Now  he  was  wandering  at  night,  in  curiosity  and  awe, 
through  the  gloomy  vaults  and  subterranean  corridors  of 
the  sacred  place;  and  now  he  was  listening,  well  pleased,  to 
the  kindly  greeting,  the  inspiring  praises  of  Macriuus  during 
their  first  interview.  But  at  this  point,  and  while  dwelling 
on  this  occasion,  his  memory  became  darkened  again ;  it 
vainly  endeavored  to  retrace^  the  circumstances  attending 
the  crowning  evidence  of  the  high-priest's  interest  in  his  pu- 
pil, and  anxiety  to  identify  him  completely  with  his  new 
protector  and  his  new  duties,  which  had  been  displayed 
when  he  conferred  on  the  trembling  boy  the  future  distinc- 
tion of  one  of  his  own  names. 

And  here  let  it  be  remembered,  as  a  chief  link  in  the  mys- 
terious chain  of  fatalities  which  had  united  to  keep  the 
brothers  apart  as  brethren  after  they  had  met  as  men,  that 
both  had,  from  widely  different  causes,  abandoned  in  after- 
life the  names  which  they  bore  in  their  father's  house;  that 
while  one,  by  his  own  act  and  for  his  own  purpose,  trans- 
formed himself  from  Oleander,  the  associate  of  the  careless 
and  the  criminal,  to  Xumerian,  the  preacher  of  the  Gospel 
and  reformer  of  the  Church  ;  the  other  had  (to  quote  the 
words  of  the  fourth  chapter)  "  become  from  the  boy  Emilius 
the  student  Ulpius,"  by  the  express  and  encouraging  com- 
mand of  his  master,  Macrinus,  the  high-priest. 

While  the  pagan  still  fruitlessly  endeavored  to  revive  the 
events  connected  with  the  change  in  his  name  on  his  arrival 
in  Alexandria,  and,  chafing  under  the  burden  of  oblivion  that 
weighed  upon  his  thoughts,  attempted  for  the  first  time  to 
move  from  the  wall  against  which  he  had  hitherto  leaned — 
while  Antonina  still  strove  in  vain  to  recall  her  father  to 
the  recollection  of  the  terrible  exigencies  of  the  moment,  as 
he  crouched  prostrate  at  the  madman's  feet — the  door-way 
of  the  temple  was  darkened  once  more  by  the  figure  of  Gois- 
vintha.  She  stood  on  the  threshold,  a  gloomy  and  indistinct 
form  in  the  fading  light,  looking  intently  into  the  deeply- 
shadowed  interior  of  the  building.  As  she  marked  the  al- 
tered positions  of  the  father  and  daughter,  she  uttered  a 
suppressed  ejaculation  of  triumph ;  but,  while  the  sound 
passed  her  lips,  she  heard,  or  thought  she  heard,  a  noise  in 


400  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OP   ROME. 

the  street  behind.  Even  now  her  vigilance  and  cunning, 
her  deadly,  calculating  resolution  to  await  in  immovable  pa- 
tience the  fit  time  for  striking  the  blow  deliberately  and 
with  impunity,  did  not  fail  her.  Turning  instantly,  she 
walked  to  the  top  step  of  the  temple,  and  stood  there  for  a 
few  moments,  watchfully  surveying  the  open  space  before 
her. 

But  in  those  few  moments  the  scene  in  the  building 
3hanged  once  more.  The  madman,  while  he  still  wavered 
between  relapsing  into  the  raving  fit  and  continuing  under 
the  influence  of  the  tranquil  mood  in  which  he  had  been 
prematurely  disturbed,  caught  sight  of  Goisvintha,  when 
her  approach  suddenly  shadowed  the  entrance  to  the  tem- 
ple. Her  presence,  momentary  though  it  was,  was  for  hira 
the  presence  of  a  figure  that  had  not  appeared  before ;  that 
had  stood  in  a  strange  position  between  the  shade  within 
and  the  faint  light  without:  it  was  a  new  object,  presented 
to  his  eyes  while  they  were  straining  to  recover  such  imper- 
fect faculties  of  observation  as  had  been  their  wont,  and  its 
ascendency  over  him  was  instantaneous  and  all-powerful. 

He  started,  bewildered,  like  a  deep  sleeper  suddenly  awoke  ^ 
violent  shudderings  ran  for  a  moment  over  his  frame;  then 
it  strengthened  again  with  its  former  unnatural  strength ; 
the  demon  raged  within  him  in  renewed  fury,  as  he  tore  his 
robe  which  Numerian  held  as  he  lay  at  his  feet,  from  the 
feeble  grasp  that  confined  it,  and,  striding  up  to  the  pile  of 
idols,  stretched  out  his  hands  in  solemn  deprecation.  "The 
high-priest  has  slept  before  the  altar  of  the  gods !"  he  cried, 
loudly,  "  but  they  have  been  patient  with  their  well-beloved  ; 
their  thunder  has  not  struck  him  for  his  crime !  Now  the 
servant  returns  to  his  service — the  rites  of  Serapis  begin  !" 

Xumerian  still  remained  prostrate,  spirit-broken ;  he  slow- 
ly clasped  his  hands  together  on  the  floor,  and  his  voice  was 
now  to  be  heard,  still  supplicating  in  low  and  stifled  accents, 
as  if  in  unceasing  prayer  lay  his  last  hope  of  preserving  his 
own  reason.  "  God  !  Thou  art  the  God  of  Mercy  ;  be  mer- 
ciful to  himP''  he  murmured.  "Thou  acceptest  of  repent- 
ance ;  grant  repentance  to  him.  If  at  any  time  I  have  served 
Thee  without  blame,  let  the  service  be  counted  to  him;  let 
the  vials  of  thy  wrath  be  poured  out  on  meP^ 

"Hark!  the  trumpet  blows  for  the  sacrifice!"  interrupted 


ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF   ROME.  401 

the  raving  voice  of  the  Pagan,  as  he  turned  from  the  altar, 
and  extended  his  arms  in  frenzied  inspiration.  "The  roar 
of  music  and  the  voice  of  exultation  soar  upward  from  the 
highest  mountain  tops !  The  incense  smokes ;  and  in  and 
out,  and  round  and  round,  the  dancers  whirl  about  the  pil- 
lars of  the  temple  !  The  ox  for  the  sacrifice  is  without  spot ; 
his  horns  are  gilt;  the  crown  and  fillet  adorn  his  head;  the 
priest  stands  before  him,  naked  from  the  waist  upward ;  he 
lieaves  the  libation  out  of  the  cup ;  the  blood  flows  over  the 
altar !  Up  !  up  !  tear  forth  with  reeking  hands  the  heart 
while  it  is  yet  warm,  futurity  is  before  you  in  the  quivering 
entrails,  look  on  them  and  read  !  read  !" 

While  he  spoke,  Goisvintha  had  entered  the  temple.  The 
street  was  still  desolate ;  no  help  was  at  hand. 

Not  advancing  at  once,  she  concealed  herself  near  the 
door,  behind  a  projection  in  the  pile  of  idols,  watching  from 
it  until  Ulpius,  in  the  progress  of  his  frenzy,  should  turn 
away  from  Antonina,  whom  he  stood  fronting  at  this  instant. 
But  she  had  not  entered  unperceived  ;  Antonina  had  seen 
her  again.  And  now  the  bitterness  of  death,  when  the 
young  die  unprotected  in  their  youth,  came  over  the  girl ; 
and  she  cried  in  a  low  wailing  voice,  as  she  knelt  by  Nume- 
rian's  side — "I  must  die,  father,  I  must  die,  as  Hermanric 
died !     Look  up  at  me,  and  speak  to  me  before  I  die  !" 

Her  father  was  still  praying;  he  heard  nothing,  for  his 
heart  was  bleeding  in  atonement  at  the  shrine  of  his  boyish 
home,  and  his  soul  still  communed  with  its  Maker.  The 
voice  that  followed  hers  was  the  voice  of  Ulpius. 

"  Oh,  beautiful  are  the  gardens  round  the  sacred  altars, 
and  lofty  the  trees  that  embower  the  glittering  shrines!"  he 
exclaimed,  rapt  and  ecstatic  in  his  new  visions.  "Lo,  the 
morning  breaks,  and  the  spirits  of  light  are  welcomed  by  a 
sacrifice!  The  sun  goes  down  behind  the  mountain,  and 
the  beams  of  evening  tremble  on  the  victim  beneath  the 
knife  of  the  adoring  priest !  The  moon  and  stars  shine  high 
in  the  firmament,  and  the  Genii  of  Night  ai"e  saluted  in  the 
still  hours  wath  blood  !" 

As  he  paused,  the  lament  of  Antonina  was  continued  in 
lower  and  lower  tones — "I  must  die,  father,  T  must  die!" 
^and  with  it  murmured  the  supplicating  accents  of  Nume- 
rian — "God  of  Mercy,  delivei-  the  helpless,  and  forgive  the 


402  a:ntonina  ;  or,  the  fall  of  kome. 

afflicted  !  Lord  of  Judgment,  deal  gently  with  tliy  serv- 
ants who  have  sinned!" — while,  mingling  with  both,  in  dis- 
cordant combination,  the  strange  music  of  the  temple  still 
poured  on  its  lulling  sound — the  rippling  of  the  running  wa- 
ters and  the  airy  chiming  of  the  bells  ! 

"  Worship ! — Emperors,  armies,  nations,  glorify  and  worship 
m<?/"  shouted  the  madman,  in  thunder-tones  of  triumph  and 
command,  as  his  eye  for  the  first  time  encountered  the  fig- 
ure of  Xumerian  prostrate  at  his  feet.  "Worship  the  demi- 
god who  moves  with  the  deities  through  spheres  unknown 
to  man  !  I  have  heard  the  moans  of  the  unburied  who  wan- 
der on  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of  the  Dead — worship  !  I  have 
looked  on  the  river  whose  black  current  roars  and  howls  in 
its  course  through  the  caves  of  everlasting  night — worship  ! 
I  have  seen  the  furies  lashed  by  serpents  on  their  wrinkled 
necks ;  and  followed  them  as  they  hurled  their  torches  over 
the  pining  ghosts!  I  have  stood  unmoved  in  the  hurricane- 
tumult  of  hell — worship!  worship!  worship!" 

He  turned  round  again  toward  the  altar  of  idols,  calling 
upon  his  gods  to  proclaim  his  deification ;  and,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  moved,  Goisvintha  sprang  forw  ard.  Antonina 
was  kneeling  with  her  face  turned  from  the  door,  as  the  as- 
sassin seized  her  by  her  long  hair  and  drove  the  knife  into 
her  neck.  The  moaning  accents  of  the  girl,  bewailing  her 
approaching  fate,  closed  in  one  faint  groan;  she  stretched 
out  her  arms,  and  fell  forward  over  her  father's  body. 

In  the  ferocious  triumph  of  the  moment,  Goisvintha  raised 
her  arm  to  repeat  the  stroke;  but  at  that  instant  the  mad- 
man looked  round.  "The  sacrifice  I  —  the  sacrifice!"  he 
shouted,  leaping  at  one  spring,  like  a  wild  beast,  at  her 
throat.  She  struck  ineffectually  at  him  w'ith  the  knife,  as 
he  fastened  his  long  nails  in  her  flesh  and  hurled  her  back- 
ward to  the  floor.  Then  he  yelled  and  gibbered  in  frantic 
exultation,  set  his  foot  on  her  breast,  and  spat  on  her  as  she 
lay  beneath  him. 

The  contact  of  the  girl's  body  when  she  fell  —  the  short 
but  terrible  tumult  of  the  attack  that  passed  almost  over 
him — the  shrill,  deafening  cries  of  the  madman — awoke  Xu- 
merian from  his  trance  of  despairing  I'emembrance,  aroused 
him  in  his  agony  of  supplicating  prayer — he  looked  up. 

The  scene  that  met  his  eyes  was  one  of  those  scenes  which 


ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         403 

crush  every  faculty  but  the  faculty  of  mechanical  action — 
before  which  thought  vanishes  from  men's  minds,  utterance 
is  suspended  on  their  lips,  expression  is  paralyzed  on  their 
faces.  The  coldness  of  the  tomb  seemed  breathed  over  Xu- 
merian's  aspect  by  the  contemplation  of  the  terrible  catas- 
trophe; his  eyes  were  glassy  and  vacant,  his  lips  parted 
and  rigid ;  even  the  remembrance  of  the  discovery  of  his 
brother  seemed  lost  to  him,  as  he  stooped  over  his  daugh- 
ter and  bound  a  fragment  of  her  robe  round  her  neck.  The 
mute,  soulless,  ghastly  stillness  of  death  looked  settled  on 
his  features,  as,  unconscious  now  of  weakness  or  age,  he  rose 
with  her  in  his  arms,  stood  motionless  for  one  moment  be- 
fore the  door-way,  and  looked  slowly  round  on  Ulpins;  then 
he  moved  forward  with  heavy,  regular  steps.  The  Pagan's 
foot  was  still  on  Goisvintha's  breast  as  the  fatiier  passed 
him;  his  gaze  was  still  fixed  on  her;  but  her  cries  of  tri- 
umph were  calmed;  he  laughed  and  muttered  incoherently 
to  himself 

The  moon  was  rising,  soft,  faint,  and  tranquil,  over  the 
quiet  street  as  Numerian  descended  the  temple  steps  with 
his  daughter  in  his  arms,  and,  after  an  instant's  pause  of 
bewilderment  and  doubt,  instinctively  pursued  hi**  slow,  fu- 
nereal course  along  the  deserted  roadway  in  the  direction 
of  home.  Soon,  as  he  advanced,  he  beheld  in  the  moonlight, 
down  the  long  vista  of  the  street  at  its  termination,  a  little 
assemblage  of  people  walking  toward  him  with  calm  and 
regular  progress.  As  they  came  nearer,  he  saw  that  one  of 
them  held  an  open  book,  that  another  carried  a  crucifix, 
and  that  others  followed  these  two  with  clasped  hands  and 
drooping  heads.  And  then,  after  an  interval,  the  fresh 
breezes  that  blew  toward  him  bore  onward  these  words, 
slowly  and  reverently  pronounced: 

^''Knotc,  therefore^  that  God  exacteth  of  thee  less  than  thine 
iniqnlty  deserveth.^^ 

^^  Canst  thou,  by  searching,  find  out  God?  Canst  thou 
find  out  the  Almighty  to  perfection?'''' 

Then  the  breeze  fell ;  the  words  grew  indistinct,  but  the 
procession  still  moved  forward.  As  it  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  the  voice  of  the  reader  was  again  plainly  heard: 

"7/"  iniquity  be  in  thy  hand,  put  it  far  aicay,  and  let  not 
wickedness  dicell  in  thy  tabernacles. 


404         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

"jFbr  then  shall  thou  lift  up  thy  face  without  spot ;  yea, 
thou  shalt  be  steadfast,  and  shalt  not  fear ; 

'"''  Because  thou  shalt  forget  thy  misery,  and  remember  it  as 
waters  that  pass  axoay : 

'•'■And  thine  age  shall  be  clearer  than  the  noonday  ;  thou 
shalt  shine  forth,  thou  shaU  be  as  the  niorning.^^ 

The  reader  stopped  and  closed  the  book ;  for  now  Nu- 
nierian  had  met  the  members  of  the  little  procession,  and 
they  looked  on  him  standing  voiceless  before  them  in  the 
dear  moonlight,  with  his  daughter's  head  drooping  over  his 
shoulder,  as  he  carried  her  in  his  arms. 

There  were  some  among  those  who  gathered  round  him 
whose  features  he  would  have  recognized  at  another  time 
as  the  features  of  the  surviving  adherents  of  his  former  con- 
gregation. The  assembly  he  had  met  was  composed  of  the 
few  sincere  Christians  in  Rome,  who  had  collected,  on  the 
promulgation  of  the  news  that  Alaric  had  ratified  terms  of 
peace,  to  make  a  pilgrimage  through  the  city,  in  the  hope- 
less endeavor,  by  reading  from  the  Bible  and  passing  ex- 
hortation, to  awaken  the  reckless  populace  to  a  feeling 
of  contrition  for  their  sins,  and  of  devout  gratitude  for 
their  approaching  deliverance  from  the  horrors  of  the 
siege. 

But  now,  when  Numerian  confronted  them,  neither  by 
word  nor  look  did  he  express  the  slightest  recognition  of 
any  who  surrounded  him.  To  all  the  questions  addressed 
to  him,  he  replied  by  hurried  gestures  that  none  could  com- 
prehend. To  all  the  promises  of  help  and  protection  heaped 
upon  him  in  the  first  outbreak  of  the  grief  and  pity  of  his 
adherents  of  other  days,  he  answered  but  by  the  same  dull, 
vacant  glance.  It  was  only  when  they  relieved  him  of 
his  burden,  and  gently  prepared  to  carry  the  senseless  girl 
among  them  back  to  her  father's  house,  that  he  spoke ;  and 
then,  in  faint,  entreating  tones,  he  besought  them  to  let  him 
hold  her  hand  as  they  went,  so  that  he  might  be  the  first  to 
feel  her  pulse  beat — if  it  yet  moved. 

They  turned  back  by  the  way  they  had  come — a  sorrow- 
ful and  slow-moving  procession !  As  they  passed  on,  the 
reader  again  opened  the  Sacred  Book;  and  then  these 
words  rose  through  tlie  soothing  and  heavenly  tranquillity 
of  the  first  hours  of  night ; 


ANTOXIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  405 

" Behold^  h<^ippy  i^  the  man  xcJiom  God  correcteth :  there- 
fore despise  not  thou  the  chastening  of  the  Almighty : 

"For  he  maketh  sore,  and  hindeth  up:  he  xooundeth,  and 
his  hands  make  xcholeP 


CHAFPER  XX\  I. 

RETRIBUTIOX. 


As,  in  the  progress  of  Lite,  each  man  pursues  his  course 
with  the  passions,  good  and  evil,  set,  as  it  were,  on  either 
side  of  hira  ;  and,  viewing  their  results  in  the  actions  of  his 
fellow-men,  finds  his  attention,  while  still  attracted  by  the 
spectacle  of  what  is  noble  and  virtuous,  suddenly  challenged 
by  the  opposite  display  of  what  is  mean  and  criminal ;  so, 
in  the  progress  of  this  narrative,  which  aims  to  be  the  re- 
flection of  Life,  the  reader  who  has  journeyed  with  us  thus 
far,  and  who  may  now  be  inclined  still  to  follow  the  little 
procession  of  Christian  devotees,  to  walk  by  the  side  of  the 
afliicted  father,  and  to  hold  with  him  the  hand  of  his  ill-fated 
child,  is  yet,  in  obedience  to  the  conditions  of  the  story,  re- 
quired to  turn  back  for  awhile  to  the  contemplation  of  its 
darker  passages  of  guilt  and  terror — he  must  enter  the  Tem- 
ple again  ;  but  he  will  enter  it  for  the  last  time. 

The  scene  before  the  altar  of  idols  was  fast  proceeding  to 
its  fatal  climax. 

The  Pagan's  frenzy  had  exhausted  itself  in  its  own  fury — 
his  insanity  was  assuming  a  quieter  and  a  more  dangerous 
form;  his  eye  grew  cunning  and  suspicious;  a  stealthy  de- 
liberation and  watchfulness  ap[)eared  in  all  his  actions.  He 
now  slowly  lifted  his  foot  from  Goisvintha's  breast,  and  raised 
his  hands  at  the  aame  time,  to  strike  her  back  if  she  should 
attempt  to  escape.  Seeing  that  she  lay  senseless  from  her 
fall,  he  left  her;  retired  to  one  of  the  corners  of  the  temple, 
took  from  it  a  rope  that  lay  there,  and  returning,  bound  her 
arms  behind  her,  at  the  hands  and  wrists.  The  rope  cut 
deep  through  the  skin — the  pain  restored  her  to  her  senses; 
she  suffered  the  sharp  agony  in  her  own  body,  in  the  same 
place  where  she  had  inflicted  it  on  the  young  chieftain,  at 
the  farm-house  beyond  the  suburbs. 

The    minute   after,  she   felt   herself  dragged   along   the 


406         ANTONINA;  OR,  THE  FALL  OP  ROME. 

ground,  farther  into  the  interior  of  the  building.  The  mad- 
man drew  her  up  to  the  iron  gates  of  tlie  passage  through 
the  partition;  and,  fastening  the  end  of  the  rope  to  them, 
left  her  there.  This  part  of  the  temple  was  enveloped  in  to- 
tal darkness  —  her  assailant  addressed  not  a  word  to  her — 
she  could  not  obtain  even  a  glimpse  of  his  form ;  but  she 
could  hear  him  still  laughing  to  himself,  in  hoarse,  monoto- 
nous tones,  that  sounded  now  near,  and  now  distant  again. 

She  abandoned  herself  as  lost  —  prematurely  devoted  to 
the  torment  and  death  that  she  had  anticipated ;  but  as  yet 
her  masculine  resolution  and  energy  did  not  decline.  The 
very  intensity  of  the  anguish  she  suffered  from  the  bindings 
at  her  wrists,  producing  a  fierce  bodily  effort  to  resist  it, 
strengthened  her  iron-strung  nerves.  She  neither  cried  for 
help,  nor  appealed  to  the  Pagan  for  pity.  The  gloomy  fatal- 
ism which  she  had  inherited  from  her  savage  ancestors  sus- 
tained her  in  a  suicide  pride. 

Ere  long  the  laughter  of  Ulplus,  while  he  moved  slowly 
hither  and  thither  in  the  darkness  of  the  temple,  was  over- 
powered by  the  sound  of  her  voice — deep,  groaning,  but  yet 
steady — as  she  uttered  her  last  words— words,  poured  forth 
like  the  wild  dirges,  the  fierce  death-songs  of  the  old  Goths, 
when  they  died  deserted  on  the  bloody  battle-field  ;  or  were 
cast  bound  into  deep  dungeons,  a  prey  to  the  viper  and  the 
asp.     Thus  she  spoke  : 

"  I  swore  to  be  avenged  !  while  I  went  forth  from  Aquileia 
with  the  child  that  was  killed  and  the  child  that  was  wound- 
ed; while  I  climbed  the  high  wall  in  the  niglit-time,  and 
heard  the  tumult  of  the  beating  waves  near  the  bank  where 
I  buried  the  dead;  while  I  wandered  in  the  darkness  over 
the  naked  heath  and  through  the  lonely  forest;  while  I 
climbed  the  pathless  sides  of  the  mountains,  and  made  my 
refuge  in  the  cavern  by  the  waters  of  the  dark  lake. 

"  I  swore  to  be  avenged  !  while  the  warriors  approached 
me  on  their  march,  and  the  roaring  of  the  trumpets  and  the 
clash  of  the  armor  sounded  in  my  ears;  while  I  greeted  my 
kinsman,  Ilermanric,  a  mighty  chieftain,  at  the  king's  side, 
among  the  invading  hosts;  while  I  looked  on  my  last  child, 
dead  like  the  rest,  and  knew  that  he  was  buried  afar  from 
the  land  of  his  people,  and  from  the  othei's  that  the  Romans 
had  slain  before  him. 


ANTONIX A  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         407 

"I  swore  to  be  avenged!  while  the  army  encamped  be- 
fore Rome,  and  I  stood  with  Hermanrie,  looking  on  the  great 
walls  in  the  misty  evening;  while  the  daughter  of  the  Ro- 
man was  a  prisoner  in  our  tent,  and  I  eyed  her  as  she  lay  on 
my  knees;  while  for  her  sake  my  kinsman  turned  traitor, 
and  withheld  my  hand  from  the  blow;  while  I  passed  un- 
seen into  the  lonely  farm-house,  to  deal  judgment  on  him 
with  my  knife ;  while  I  saw  him  die  the  death  of  a  deserter 
at  my  feet,  and  knew  that  it  was  a  Roman  who  had  lured 
him  from  his  people,  and  blinded  him  to  the  righteousness 
of  revenge. 

"I  swore  to  be  avenged  !  while  I  walked  round  the  grave 
of  the  chieftain  who  was  the  last  of  my  race ;  while  I  stood 
alone  out  of  the  army  of  ray  people,  in  the  city  of  the  slay- 
ers of  my  babes ;  while  I  tracked  the  footsteps  of  the  Roman 
who  had  twice  escaped  me,  as  she  fled  through  the  street ; 
while  I  watched  and  was  patient  among  the  pillars  of  the 
temple,  and  waited  till  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  victim 
was  unshielded,  for  the  moment  to  strike. 

"I  swore  to  be  avenged!  and  my  oath  has  been  fulfilled 
— the  knife  that  still  bleeds  drops  with  her  blood — the  chief 
vengeance  has  been  wreaked  !  The  rest  that  were  to  be 
slain  remain  for  others,  and  not  for  me !  For  now  I  go  to 
my  husband  and  my  children  ;  now  the  hour  is  near  at  hand 
when  I  shall  herd  with  their  spirits  in  the  Twilight  World 
of  Shadows,  and  make  my  long  abiding-place  with  them  in 
the  Valley  of  Eternal  Repose  !  The  Destinies  have  willed  it 
— it  is  enough  !" 

Her  voice  trembled  and  grew  faint  as  she  pronounced  the 
last  words.  The  anguish  of  the  ftistenings  at  her  wrists 
was  at  last  overpowering  her  senses,  conquering,  spite  of  all 
resistance,  her  stubborn  endurance.  For  a  little  while  yet 
she  spoke  at  intervals ;  but  her  speech  was  fragmentary  and 
incoherent.  At  one  moment  she  still  gloried  in  her  revenge, 
at  another  she  exulted  in  the  fancied  contemplation  of  the 
girl's  body  still  lying  before  her ;  and  her  hands  writhed  be- 
neath their  bonds,  in  the  eiFort  to  repossess  themselves  of 
the  knife,  and  strike  again.  But  soon  all  sounds  ceased  to 
proceed  from  her  lips,  save  the  loud,  thick,  irregular  bi'eath- 
ings,  which  showed  that  she  was  yet  conscious,  and  yet 
lived. 


408  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   ROME. 

Meanwhile  the  madman  had  passed  into  the  inner  recess 
of  the  temple,  and  liad  drawn  the  shutter  over  the  opening 
in  the  wall,  through  which  light  had  been  admitted  into  the 
place  when  Numerian  and  Antonina  first  entered  it.  Even 
the  black  chasm  formed  by  the  mouth  of  the  vault  of  the 
dragon  now  disappeared,  with  all  other  objects,  in  the  thick 
darkness.  But  no  obscurity  could  confuse  the  senses  of  Ul- 
pius  in  the  temple,  whose  every  corner  he  visited  in  his  rest- 
less wanderings  by  night  and  by  day  alike.  Led  as  if  by  a 
mysterious  penetration  of  sight,  he  traced  his  way  unerring- 
ly to  the  entrance  of  the  vault,  knelt  down  before  it,  and, 
placing  his  hands  on  the  first  of  the  steps  by  which  it  was 
descended,  listened,  breathless  and  attentive,  to  the  sounds 
that  rose  from  the  abyss  —  listened,  rapt  and  unmoving,  a 
formidable  and  unearthly  figure  —  like  a  magician  waiting 
for  a  voice  from  the  oracles  of  Hell — like  a  spirit  of  Night 
looking  down  into  the  mid  caverns  of  the  earth,  and  watch- 
ing the  mysteries  of  subterranean  creation,  the  giant  pulses 
of  Action  and  Heat,  which  are  the  life-springs  of  the  rolling 
world. 

The  fitful  wind  whistled  up,  wild  and  plaintive ;  the  river 
chafed  and  bubbled  through  the  iron  grating  below;  the 
loose  scales  of  the  dragon  clashed  as  the  night  breezes  reach- 
ed them :  and  these  sounds  were  still  to  him  as  the  language 
of  his  gods,  which  filled  him  with  a  fearful  rapture,  and  in- 
fipired  him,  in  the  terrible  degradation  of  his  being,  as  with 
a  new  soul.  He  listened  and  listened  yet.  Fragments  of 
wild  fancies — the  vain  yearnings  of  the  disinherited  mind  to 
recover  its  divine  birthright  of  boundless  thought  —  now 
thrilled  through  him,  and  held  him  still  and  speechless  where 
he  knelt. 

But  at  length,  through  the  gloomy  silence  of  the  recess, 
he  heard  the  voice  of  Goisvintha  raised  once  more,  and  in 
hoarse,  wild  tones  calling  aloud  for  light  and  help.  The  ag- 
ony of  pain  and  suspense,  the  awful  sense  of  darkness  and 
stillness,  of  solitary  bondage  and  slow  torment,. had  at  last 
effected  that  which  no  open  peril,  no  common  menace  of  vi- 
olent death  could  have  produced.  She  yielded  to  fear  and 
despair — sank  prostrate  under  a  paralyzing,  superstitious 
dread.  The  misery  that  she  had  inflicted  on  others  recoiled 
in  retribution  on  herself,  as  she  now  shuddered  under  the 


ANTONtXA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME.         409 

consciousness  of  the  first  emotions  of  helpless  terror  that  she 
had  ever  felt. 

Ulpius  instantly  rose  from  the  vault,  and  advanced  straight 
through  the  darkness  to  the  gates  of  the  partition  ;  but  he 
passed  his  prisoner  without  stopping  for  an  instant,  and  has- 
tening into  the  outer  apartment  of  the  temple,  began  to 
grope  over  the  floor  for  the  knife  which  the  woman  had 
dropped  when  he  bound  her.  He  was  laughing  to  himself 
once  more,  for  the  evil  spirit  was  prompting  him  to  a  new 
project,  tempting  him  to  a  pitiless  refinement  of  cruelty  and 
deceit. 

He  found  the  knife,  and  returning  with  it  to  Goisvintha, 
cut  the  rope  that  confined  her  wrists.  Then  (she  became  si- 
lent when  the  first  sharpness  of  her  suffering  was  assauged) 
he  whispered  softly  in  her  ear,  "  Follow  me,  and  escape !" 

Bewildered  and  daunted  by  the  darkness  and  mystery 
around  her,  she  vainly  strained  her  eyes  to  look  through  the 
obscurity,  as  Ulpius  drew  her  on  into  the  recess.  He  placed 
her  at  the  mouth  of  the  vault,  and  here  she  strove  to  speak ; 
but  low,  inarticulate  sounds  alone  proceeded  from  her  pow- 
erless utterance.  Still,  there  was  no  light;  still,  the  burn- 
ing, gnawing  agony  at  her  wrists  (relieved  but  for  an  in- 
stant when  the  rope  was  cut)  continued  and  increased;  and 
still  she  felt  the  presence  of  the  unseen  being  at  her  side, 
whom  no  darkness  could  blind,  and  who  bound  and  loosed 
at  his  arbitrary  will. 

By  nature  fierce,  resolute,  and  vindictive  under  injury,  she 
was  a  terrible  evidence  of  the  debasing  power  of  crime,  as 
she  now  stood,  enfeebled  by  the  weight  of  her  own  aven- 
ging guilt,  upraised  to  crush  her  in  the  hour  of  her  pride ;  by 
the  agency  of  Darkness,  whose  perils  the  innocent  and  the 
weak  have  been  known  to  brave;  by  Suspense,  whose  agony 
they  have  resisted  ;  by  Pain,  whose  infliction  they  have  en- 
dured in  patience. 

'"  Go  down,  far  down  the  steep  steps,  and  escape !"  whis- 
pered the  madman,  in  soft,  beguiling  tones.  "The  darkness 
above  leads  to  the  light  below  !     Go  down,  far  down  !" 

He  quitted  his  hold  of  her  as  he  spoke.  She  hesitated, 
shuddered,  and  drew  back ;  but  again  she  was  urged  for- 
ward, and  again  she  heard  the  whisper,  "The  darkness 
above  leads  to  the  light  below !     Go  down,  far  down  !" 

18 


410  ANTONIJfA;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF    ROME. 

Despair  gave  the  firmness  to  proceed,  and  dread  the  hope 
to  escape.  Her  wounded  arms  trembled  as  she  now  stretch- 
ed them  out,  and  felt  for  the  walls  of  the  vault  on  either 
side  of  her.  The  horror  of  death  in  utter  darkness,  from  un- 
seen hands,  and  the  last  longing  aspiration  to  behold  the 
light  of  heaven  once  more,  were  at  their  strongest  within 
her,  as  she  began  slowly  and  cautiously  to  tread  the  fatal 
stairs. 

While  she  descended,  the  Pagan  dropped  into  his  former 
attitude  at  the  mouth  of  the  vault,  and  listened  breathless- 
ly. Minutes  seemed  to  elapse  between  each  step,  as  she 
went  lower  and  lower  down.  Suddenly  he  heard  her  pause, 
as  if  panic-stricken  in  the  darkness,  and  her  voice  ascended 
to  him,  groaning,  "Light !  light !  Oh,  where  is  the  light !" 
He  rose  up,  and  stretched  out  his  hands  to  hurl  her  back 
if  she  should  attempt  to  return  ;  but  she  descended  again. 
Twice  he  heard  her  heavy  footfall  on  the  steps — then  there 
was  an  interval  of  deep  silence  —  then  a  sharp,  grinding 
clash  of  metal  echoed  piercingly  through  the  vault,  followed 
by  the  noise  of  a  dull,  heavy  fall,  faintly  audible  far  beneath 
— and  then  the  old  familiar  sounds  of  the  place  were  heard 
again,  and  were  not  interrupted  more.  The  sacrifice  to  the 
Dragon  was  achieved ! 

The  madman  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  sacred  building, 
and  looked  out  on  the  street  shining  before  him  in  the  bright 
Italian  moonlight.  No  remembrance  of  Numerian  and  An- 
tonina,  and  of  the  earlier  events  in  the  temple,  remained 
within  him.  He  was  pondering  imperfectly,  in  vague  pride 
and  triumph,  over  the  sacrifice  that  he  had  oifered  up  at 
the  shrine  of  the  Dragon  of  Brass.  Thus  secretly  exulting, 
he  now  remained  inactive.  Absorbed  in  his  wandering  raed. 
itations,  he  delayed  to  trace  the  subterranean  passages  lead- 
ing to  the  iron  grating  where  the  corpse  of  Goisvintha  lay 
washed  by  the  waters,  as  they  struggled  onward  through 
the  bars,  and  waiting  but  his  hand  to  be  cast  into  the  river, 
where  all  past  sacrifices  had  been  ingulfed  before  it. 

His  tall,  solitary  figure  was  lit  by  the  moonlight  stream- 
ing through  the  pillars  of  the  portico ;  his  loose  robes 
waved  slowly  about  him  in  the  wind,  as  he  stood  firm  and 
erect  before  the  door  of  the  temple:  he  looked  more  like 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  411 

the  spectral  genius  of  departed  Paganism  than  a  living  man. 
But,  lifeless  though  he  seemed,  his  quick  eye  was  still  on  the 
watch,  still  directed  by  the  restless  suspicion  of  insanity. 
Minute  after  minute  quietly  elapsed,  and  as  yet  nothing  was 
presented  to  his  rapid  observation  but  the  desolate  road- 
way, and  the  high,  gloomy  houses  that  bounded  it  on  either 
side.  It  was  soon,  however,  destined  to  be  attracted  by  ob- 
jects far  different  from  these — by  objects  which  startled  the 
repose  of  the  tranquil  street  with  the  tumult  of  action  and 
life. 

He  was  still  gazing  earnestly  on  the  narrow  view  before 
him,  vaguely  imagining  to  himself,  the  while,  Goisvintha's 
fatal  descent  into  the  vault,  and  thinking  triumphantly  of 
her  dead  body  that  now  lay  on  the  grating  beneath  it,  when 
a  red  glare  of  torch-light,  thrown  wildly  on  the  moon-bright- 
ened pavement,  whose  purity  it  seemed  to  stain,  caught  his 
eye. 

The  light  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  street  leading  from 
the  more  central  portion  of  the  city,  and  ere  long  displayed 
clearly  a  body  of  forty  or  fifty  people  advancing  toward  the 
temple.  The  Pagan  looked  eagerly  on  them  as  they  came 
nearer  and  nearer.  The  assembly  was  composed  of  j^riests, 
soldiers,  and  citizens — the  priests  bearing  torches,  the  sol- 
diers carrying  hammers,  crow-bars,  and  other  similar  tools, 
or  bending  under  the  weight  of  large  chests  secured  with 
iron  fastenings,  close  to  which  the  populace  walked,  as  if 
guarding  them  with  jealous  care.  This  strange  procession 
was  preceded  by  two  men,  who  were  considerably  in  ad- 
vance of  it — a  priest  and  a  soldier.  An  expression  of  impa- 
tience and  exultation  appeared  on  their  pale,  famine-wasted 
countenances  as  they  approached  the  temple  with  rapid  steps. 

Ulpius  never  moved  from  his  position,  but  fixed  his  pier- 
cing eyes  on  them  as  they  advanced.  Not  vainly  did  he 
now  stand,  watchful  and  menacing,  before  the  entrance  of 
his  gloomy  shrine.  He  had  seen  the  first  degradations  heap- 
ed on  fallen  Paganism,  and  he  was  now  to  see  the  last.  He 
had  immolated  all  his  affections  and  all  his  hopes,  all  liis 
feculties  of  body  and  mind,  his  happiness  in  boyhood,  his 
enthusiasm  in  youth,  his  courage  in  manhood,  his  reason  in 
old  age,  at  the  altar  of  his  gods ;  and  now  they  were  to  ex- 
act from  him,  in  their  defense,  lonely,  criminal,  maddened, 


412  ajjtonina;  ok,  the  fall  of  kome. 

as  he  already  was  in  their  cause,  more  than  all  this !  The 
decree  had  gone  forth  from  the  Senate  which  devoted  to 
legalized  pillage  the  treasures  in  the  temples  of  Rome! 

Rulers  of  a  people  impoverished  by  former  exactions,  and 
controllers  only  of  an  exhausted  treasury,  the  government 
of  the  city  had  searched  vainly  among  all  ordinary  resources 
for  the  means  of  paying  the  heavy  ransom  exacted  by  Al- 
aric  as  the  price  of  peace.  The  one  chance  of  meeting  the 
emergency  that  remained  was  to  strip  the  Pagan  temples 
of  the  mass  of  jeweled  ornaments  and  utensils,  the  costly 
robes,  the  idols  of  gold  and  silver  which  they  were  known 
to  contain,  and  which,  under  that  mysterious,  hereditary  in- 
fluence of  superstition,  whose  power  it  is  the  longest  labor 
of  truth  to  destroy,  had  remained  untouched  and  respected, 
alike  by  the  people  and  the  Senate,  after  the  worship  that 
they  represented  had  been  interdicted  by  the  laws  and  aban- 
doned by  the  nation. 

This  last  expedient  for  freeing  Rome  from  the  blockade 
was  adopted  almost  as  soon  as  imagined.  The  impatience 
of  the  starved  populace  for  the  immediate  collection  of  the 
ransom,  allowed  the  Government  little  time  for  the  tedious 
preliminaries  of  deliberation.  The  soldiers  M'ere  provided 
at  once  with  the  necessary  implements  for  the  task  imposed 
on  them ;  certain  chosen  members  of  the  Senate  and  the 
people  followed  them,  to  see  that  they  honestly  gathered  in 
the  public  spoil ;  and  the  priests  of  the  Christian  churches 
volunteered  to  hallow  the  expedition  by  their  presence,  and 
led  the  way  with  their  torches  into  every  secret  apartment 
of  the  temples  where  treasure  might  be  contained.  At  the 
close  of  the  day,  immediately  after  it  had  been  authorized, 
this  strange  search  for  the  ransom  was  hurriedly  com- 
menced. Already  much  had  been  collected;  votive  oiFer- 
ings  of  price  had  been  snatched  from  the  altars,  where  they 
had  so  long  hung  undisturbed ;  hidden  treasure-chests  of 
sacred  utensils  had  been  discovered  and  broken  open  ;  idols 
had  been  stripped  of  their  precious  ornaments,  and  torn 
from  their  massive  pedestals;  and  now  the  procession  of 
gold-seekers,  proceeding  along  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  had 
come  in  sight  of  the  little  temple  of  Serapis,  and  were 
hastening  forward  to  empty  it,  in  its  turn,  of  every  valuable 
that  it  contained. 


aittonina;  or,  the  fall  of  romb.  413 

The  priest  and  the  soldier,  calling  to  their  companions 
behind  to  hurry  on,  had  now  arrived  opposite  the  temple 
steps;  and  saw  confronting  them  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
from  the  eminence  on  which  he  stood,  the  weird  and  soli- 
tary tigure  of  Ulpius — the  apparition  of  a  Pagan  in  the  gor- 
geous robes  of  his  priesthood,  bidden  back  from  the  tombs 
to  stay  the  hand  of  the  spoiler  before  the  shrine  of  his  gods. 

The  soldier  dropped  his  weapon  to  the  ground;  and, 
trembling  in  every  limb,  refused  to  proceed.  But  the  piiest, 
a  tall,  stern,  emaciated  man,  went  on  defenseless  and  un- 
daunted. He  signed  himself  solemnly  with  the  cross  as  he 
slowly  ascended  the  steps;  fixed  his  unflinching  eyes  on 
the  madman,  who  glared  back  on  him  in  return;  and  call- 
ed aloud  in  a  harsh,  steady  voice:  "Man,  or  demon  !  in  the 
name  of  Christ,  whom  thou  deniest,  stand  back  !" 

For  an  instant,  as  the  priest  approached  him,  the  Pagan 
averted  his  eyes  and  looked  on  the  concourse  of  people  and 
the  armed  soldiers  rapidly  advancing.  His  fingers  closed 
round  the  hilt  of  Goisvintha's  knife,  which  he  had  hitherto 
held  loosely  in  his  hand,  as  he  exclaimed  in  low,  concentra- 
ted tones,  "Aha  !  the  siege  —  the  siege  of  Serapis  !"  The 
priest,  now  standing  on  the  same  step  with  him,  stretched 
out  his  arm  to  thrust  him  back,  and  at  that  moment  received 
the  stroke  of  the  knife.  He  staggered,  lifted  his  hand  again 
to  sign  his  forehead  with  the  cross ;  and,  as  he  raised  it,  roll- 
ed back  dead  on  the  pavement  of  the  street. 

The  soldier,  standing  motionless  with  superstitious  terror 
a  few  feet  from  the  corpse,  called  to  his  companions  for  help.* 
Hurling  his  bloody  weapon  at  them  in  defiance,  as  they  ran 
in  confusion  to  the  base  of  the  temple  steps,  Ulpius  entered 
the  building,  and  locked  and  chained  the  gates. 

Then  the  assembled  people  thronging  round  the  corpse  of 
the  priest,  heard  the  madman  shouting  in  his  frenz}^  as  if  to 
a  great  body  of  adherents  round  him,  to  pour  down  the 
molten  lend  and  the  scorching  sand ;  to  hurl  back  every 
scaling-ladder  planted  against  the  walls;  to  massacre  each 
prisoner  who  was  seized  mounting  the  ramparts  to  the  as- 
sault ;  and  as  they  looked  up  to  the  building  from  the  street, 
they  saw  at  intervals  through  the  bars  of  the  closed  gates 
the  figure  of  Ulpius  passing  swift  and  shadowy — his  arms 
extended,  his  long  gray  hair  and  white  robes  streaming  be- 


414  ANTOinNA;    OR,  THE   FALL   OF   ROME. 

hind  him,  as  he  rushed  round  and  round  the  temple  reiter- 
ating his  wild  Pagan  war-cries  as  he  went.  The  enfeebled, 
superstitious  populace  trembled  while  they  gazed — a  spectre 
driven  on  a  whirlwind  would  not  have  been  more  terrible  to 
their  eyes. 

But  the  priests  among  the  crowd,  roused  to  fury  by  the 
murder  of  one  of  their  own  body,  revived  the  courage  of 
those  around  them.  Even  the  shouts  of  Ulpius  were  now 
overpowered  by  the  sound  of  their  voices,  raised  to  the  high- 
est pitch,  promising  heavenly  and  earthly  rewards — salva- 
tion, money,  absolution,  promotion — to  all  who  would  follow 
them  up  the  steps  and  burst  their  way  into  the  temple. 
Animated  by  the  words  of  the  priests,  and  growing  gradual- 
ly confident  in  their  own  numbers,  the  boldest  in  the  throng 
seized  a  piece  of  timber  lying  by  the  river-side,  and  using  it 
as  a  battering-ram,  assailed  the  gate.  But  they  were  weak- 
ened with  famine;  they  could  gain  little  impetus,  from  the 
necessity  of  ascending  the  temple  steps  to  the  attack :  the 
iron  quivered  as  they  struck  it ;  but  hinge  and  lock  remain- 
ed firm  alike.  They  were  preparing  to  renew  the  attempt, 
when  a  tremendous  shock — a  crash  as  if  the  whole  heavy 
roof  of  the  building  had  fallen  in — drove  them  back  in  ter- 
ror to  the  street. 

Recalled  by  the  sight  of  the  armed  men,  the  priests,  and 
the  attendant  crowd  of  people  advancing  to  invade  his  sanc- 
tuai'y,  to  the  days  when  he  had  defended  the  great  Temple 
of  Serapis  at  Alexandria,  against  enemies  similar  in  appear- 
•ance,  though  far  superior  in  numbers ;  persuaded  in  the  re- 
vival of  these,  the  most  sanguinary  visions  of  his  insanity, 
that  he  was  still  resisting  the  Christian  fanatics;  supported 
by  his  adherents  in  his  sacred  fortress  of  former  years,  the 
Pagan  displayed  none  of  his  accustomed  cunning  and  care 
in  moving  through  the  darkness  around  him.  He  hurried 
hither  and  thither,  encouraging  his  imaginary  followers,  and 
glorying  in  his  dreams  of  slaughter  and  success,  forgetful  in 
his  frenzy  of  all  that  the  temple  contained. 

As  he  pursued  his  wild  course  round  and  round  the  altar 
of  idols,  his  robe  became  entangled,  and  was  torn  by  the 
projecting  substances  at  one  corner  of  it.  The  whole  over- 
hanging mass  tottered  at  the  moment,  but  did  not  yet  fall. 
A  few  of  the  smaller  idols,  however,  at  the  outside  dropped 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  eome.  415 

to  the  ground ;  and  with  them  an  image  of  Serapis,  which 
they  happened  partially  to  support — a  heavy,  monstrous  fig- 
ure, carved  life-size  in  wood, and  studded  with  gold,  silver,  and 
precious  stones — fell  at  the  Pagan's  feet.  But  this  was  all — the 
outer  materials  of  the  perilous  structure  had  been  detached 
only  at  one  point ;  the  pile  itself  still  remained  in  its  place. 

The  madman  seized  the  image  of  Serapis  in  his  arms,  and 
passed  blindly  onward  with  it  through  the  passage  in  the 
partition  into  the  recess  beyond.  At  that  instant  the  shock 
of  the  first  attack  on  the  gates  resounded  through  the  build- 
ing. Shouting  as  he  heard  it,  "A  sally!  a  sally!  men  of 
the  Temple,  the  gods  and  the  high-priest  lead  you  on  !"  and 
still  holding  the  idol  before  him,  he  rushed  straight  forward 
to  the  entrance,  and  struck  in  violent  collision  against  the 
backward  part  of  the  pile. 

The  ill-balanced,  top-heavy  mass  of  images  and  furniture 
of  many  temples  swayed,  parted,  and  fell  over  against  the 
gates  and  the  wall  on  either  side  of  them.  Maimed  and 
bleeding,  struck  down  by  the  lower  part  of  the  pile,  as  it 
was  forced  back  against  the  partition  when  the  upper  part 
fell,  the  fury  of  Ulpius  was  but  increased  by  the  crashing 
ruin  around  him.  He  struggled  up  again  into  an  erect  po- 
sition ;  mounted  on  the  top  of  the  fallen  mass — now  spread 
out  at  the  sides  over  the  floor  of  the  building,  but  confined 
at  one  end  by  the  partition,  and  at  the  other  by  the  oppo- 
site wall  and  the  gates — and  still  clasping  the  image  of  Se- 
rapis in  his  arms,  called  louder  and  louder  to  "  the  men  of 
the  Temple,"  to  mount  with  him  the  highest  ramparts,  and 
pour  down  on  the  besiegers  the  molten  lead  ! 

The  priests  were  again  the  first  men  to  approach  the  gates 
of  the  building  after  the  shock  that  had  been  heard  within 
it.  The  struggle  for  the  possession  of  the  temple  had  as- 
sumed to  them  the  character  of  a  holy  warfare  against 
Heathenism  and  magic  —  a  sacred  conflict  to  be  sustained 
by  the  Church,  for  the  sake  of  her  servant  who  had  fallen  a 
martyr  at  the  outset  of  the  strife.  Strong  in  their  fanatical 
boldness,  they  advanced  with  one  accord  close  to  the  gates. 
Some  of  the  smaller  images  of  the  fallen  pile  had  been  forced 
through  the  bars,  behind  which  appeared  the  great  idols, 
the  broken  masses  of  furniture,  the  long  robes  and  costly 
hangings,  all  locked  together  in  every  wild  variety  of  po- 


416  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  kome. 

sit  ion — a  chaos  of  distorted  objects  heaped  up  by  an  earth- 
quake !  Above  and  farther  inward,  the  lower  part  of  the 
Pagan's  robe  was  faintly  discernible  through  the  upper  in- 
terstices in  the  gate,  as  he  stood,  commanding,  on  the  sum- 
mit of  his  prostrate  altar,  with  his  idol  in  his  arms. 

The  priest  felt  an  instant  conviction  of  certain  triumph 
when  they  discerned  the  cause  of  the  shock  that  had  been 
heard  witliin  the  temple.  One  of  their  number  snatched 
up  a  small  image  that  had  fallen  through  to  the  pavement 
where  he  stood,  and  holding  it  before  the  people  below, 
exclaimed  exultingly: 

"Children  of  the  Church,  the  mystery  is  revealed  !  Idols 
more  precious  than  this  lie  by  hundreds  on  the  floor  of  the 
temple !  It  is  no  demon,  but  a  man,  one  man,  who  still  de- 
ties  us  within  ! — a  robber  who  would  defraud  the  Romans 
of  the  ransom  of  their  lives ! — the  pillage  of  many  temples 
is  around  him ;  remember  now,  that  the  nearer  we  came  to 
this  place  the  fewer  were  the  spoils  of  idolatry  that  we 
gathered  in  ;  the  treasure  which  is  yours,  the  treasure  which 
is  to  free  you  fi-om  the  famine,  has  been  seized  by  the  assas- 
sin of  our  holy  brother;  it  is  there  scattered  at  his  feet !  To 
the  orates !  To  the  ffates  again  !  Absolution  for  all  their 
sins  to  the  men  who  burst  in  the  gates !" 

Again  the  mass  of  timber  was  taken  up ;  again  the  gates 
were  assailed ;  and  again  they  stood  firm — they  were  now 
strengthened ;  barricaded  by  the  fallen  pile.  It  seemed 
hopeless  to  attempt  to  break  them  down  without  a  re-en- 
forcement of  men,  without  employing  against  them  the 
heaviest  missiles,  the  strongest  engines  of  war. 

The  people  gave  vent  to  a  cry  of  fury,  as  they  heard  from 
the  temple  the  hollow  laughter  of  the  madman  triumphing 
in  their  defeat.  The  words  of  the  priest,  in  allaying  their 
superstitious  fears,  had  aroused  the  deadly  passions  that 
superstition  brings  forth.  A  few  among  the  throng  hurried 
to  the  nearest  guard-house  for  assistance,  but  the  greater 
part  pressed  closely  round  the  temple ;  some  pouring  forth 
impotent  execrations  against  the  robber  of  the  public  spoil ; 
some  joining  the  priests  in  calling  on  him  to  yield.  But 
the  clamor  lasted  not  long:  it  was  suddenly  and  strangely 
stilled  by  the  voice  of  one  man  in  the  crowd,  calling  loudly 
to  the  rest  to  fire  the  temple ! 


antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  kome.  417 

The  words  were  hardly  spoken  ere  they  were  repeated 
triumphantly  on  all  sides,  "  Fire  the  temple !"  cried  the 
people,  ferociously.  "  Burn  it  over  the  robber's  head !  A 
furnace — a  furnace!  to  melt  down  the  gold  and  silver  ready 
to  our  hands  !     Fire  the  temple  !     Fire  the  temple  !" 

Those  who  were  most  active  among  the  crowd  (which 
was  now  greatly  increased  by  stragglers  from  all  parts  of 
the  city)  entered  the  houses  behind  them,  and  returned  in  a 
few  minutes  with  every  inflammable  substance  that  they 
could  collect  in  their  hands.  A  heap  of  fuel,  two  or  three 
feet  in  height,  was  raised  against  the  gates  immediately, 
and  soldiers  and  people  pressed  forward  with  torches  to 
light  it.  But  the  priest  who  had  before  spoken  waved 
them  back.  "  Wait !"  he  cried ;  "  the  fate  of  his  body 
is  with  the  people,  but  the  fate  of  his  soul  is  with  the 
Church  !" 

Then,  turning  to  the  temple,  he  called  solemnly  and 
sternly  to  the  madman.  "Thy  hour  is  come!  repent,  con- 
fess, and  save  thy  soul !" 

"Slay  on  !  Slay  on !"  answered  the  raving  voice  from 
within.  "  Slay,  till  not  a  Christian  is  left !  Victory  !  Sera- 
pis  !  See,  they  drop  from  our  walls !  they  writhe  bleeding 
on  the  earth  beneath  us !  There  is  no  worship  but  the  wor- 
ship of  the  gods  !     Slay  !     Slay  on  !" 

"  Light !"  cried  the  pi'iest.  "  His  damnation  be  on  his 
own  head !  Anathema!  Maranatha !  Let  bim  die  ac- 
cursed !" 

The  di*y  fuel  was  fired  at  once  at  all  points:  it  was  an 
anticipation  of  an  auto-da-fe — a  burning  of  a  heretic,  in  the 
fifth  century.  As  the  flames  rose,  the  people  fell  back 
and  watched  their  rapid  progress.  The  priests  standing  be- 
fore them  in  a  line,  stretched  out  their  hands  in  denuncia- 
tion against  the  temple,  and  repeated  together  the  awful 
excommunication  service  of  the  Roman  Church. 

4:  %  :jc  4:  4:  4c  :|e 

The  fire  at  the  gates  had  communicated  with  the  idols  in- 
side. It  was  no  longer  on  his  prostrate  altar,  but  on  his 
funeral  pile  that  Ulpius  now  stood ;  and  the  image  that  he 
clasped  was  the  stake  to  which  he  was  bound.  A  red  glare, 
dull  at  first,  was  now  brightening  and  brightening  below 
him  ;  flames,  quick  and  noiseless,  rose   and   fell,  and   rose 

18* 


418  antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome. 

again  at  different  points,  illuminating  the  interior  of  the 
temple  with  fitful  and  changing  light.  The  grim,  swartliy 
forms  of  the  idols  seemed  to  sway  and  writhe  like  living 
things  in  torment,  as  fire  and  smoke  alternately  displayed 
and  concealed  them.  A  deadly  stillness  now  overspread 
the  face  and  form  of  the  Pagan,  as  he  looked  down  stead- 
fastly on  the  deities  of  his  worship  engendering  his  destruc- 
tion beneath  him.  His  cheek — the  cheek  which  had  rested 
in  boyhood  on  his  mother's  bosom — was  pressed  against  the 
gilded  breast  of  the  god  Serapis,  his  task-master  in  life — his 
pillow  in  death  ! 

"  I  rise  !  I  rise  to  the  world  of  light,  with  my  deities  whom 
I  have  served!"  he  murmured;  "the  brightness  of  their 
presence  is  like  a  flaming  fire ;  the  smoke  of  their  breath 
pours  forth  around  me  like  the  smoke  of  incense  J  I  minis- 
ter in  the  Temples  of  the  Clouds ;  and  the  glory  of  eternal 
sunlight  shines  round  me  while  I  adore  !     I  rise  !  I  rise  !" 

The  smoke  whirled  in  black  volumes  over  his  head;  the 
fierce  voice  of  the  fast-spreading  fire  roared  on  him ;  the 
flames  leaped  up  at  his  feet — his  robes  kindled,  burst  into 
radiant  light,  as  the  pile  yawned  and  opened  under  him. 

Time  had  passed.  The  strife  between  the  Temple  and 
the  Church  was  ended.  The  priests  and  the  people  had 
formed  a  wider  circle  round  the  devoted  building;  all  that 
was  inflammable  in  it  had  been  burned ;  smoke  and  flame 
now  burst  only  at  intervals  through  the  gates,  and  grad- 
ually both  ceased  to  appear.  Then  the  crowd  approached 
nearer  to  the  temple,  and  felt  the  heat  of  the  furnace  they 
had  kindled,  as  they  looked  in. 

The  iron  gates  were  red  hot — from  the  great  mass  behind 
(still  glowing  bright  in  some  places,  and  heaving  and  quiv- 
ering with  its  own  heat)  a  thin,  transparent  vapor  rose  slow- 
ly to  the  stone  roof  of  the  building,  now  blackened  with 
smoke.  The  priests  looked  eagerly  for  the  corpse  of  the 
Pagan ;  they  saw  two  dark,  charred  objects  closely  united 
together,  lying  in  a  chasm  of  ashes  near  the  gate,  at  a  spot 
where  the  fire  had  already  exhausted  itself,  but  it  was  im- 
possible to  discern  which  was  the  man  and  which  was  the 
idol. 

The  necessity  for  providing  means  for  entering  the  temple 


ANTONIXA;    or,  the   fall   of   R03IE.  419 

had  not  been  forgotten  while  the  flames  were  raging.  Prop- 
er iinj)lement§  for  forcing  open  the  gates  were  now  at  hand, 
and  already  the  mob  began  to  dip  their  buckets  in  the  Ti- 
ber, and  pour  water  wherever  any  traces  of  the  fire  remain- 
ed. Soon  all  obstacles  were  removed  ;  the  soldiers  crowded 
into  the  building  with  spades  in  their  hands,  trampled  on 
the  black,  watery  mire  of  cinders  which  covered  what  had 
once  been  the  altar  of  idols,  and  throwing  out  into  the  street 
the  refuse  ashes  and  the  stone  images  which  had  remained 
unconsumed,  dug  in  what  was  left,  as  in  a  new  mine,  for  the 
gold  and  silver  which  the  fire  could  not  destro}-. 

The  Pagan  had  lived  with  his  idols,  had  perished  with  his 
idols ! — and  now  where  they  were  cast  away,  there  he  was 
cast  away  with  them.  The  soldiers,  as  they  dug  into  frag- 
ments the  black  ruins  of  his  altar,  mingled  him  in  fragments 
with  it!  The  people,  as  they  cast  the  refuse  thrown  out  to 
them  into  the  river,  cast  what  remained  of  him  with  what 
remained  of  his  gods  !  And  when  the  temple  was  deserted, 
when  the  citizens  had  borne  ofi"  all  the  treasure  they  could 
collect,  when  nothing  but  a  few  heaps  of  dust  was  left  of  all 
that  had  been  burned,  the  night-wind  blew  away  before  it 
the  ashes  of  Ulpius  with  the  ashes  of  the  deities  that  Ulpius 
had  served  I 


CHAPTER  xxyn. 

THE     VIGIL    OF    HOPE. 


A  NE"W  prospect  now  opens  before  us.  The  rough  paths 
through  which  we  have  hitherto  threaded  our  way  grow 
smoother  as  we  approach  their  close.  Rome,  so  long  dark 
and  gloomy  to  our  view,  brightens  at  length  like  a  land- 
scape when  the  rain  is  past,  and  the  first  rays  of  returning 
sunlight  stream  through  the  parting  clouds.  Some  days 
have  elapsed,  and  in  those  days  the  temples  have  yielded  all 
their  wealth ;  the  conquered  Romans  have  bribed  the  tri- 
umphant barbarians  to  mercy  ;  the  ransom  of  the  fallen  city 
has  been  paid. 

The  Gothic  army  is  still  encamped  round  the  walls,  but 
the  gates  are  opened,  markets  for  food  are  established  in  the 
suburbs,  boats  appear  on  the  river  and  wagons  on  the  high- 


420  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

roads,  laden  with  provisions,  and  proceeding  toward  Rome. 
All  the  hidden  treasure  kept  back  by  the  citizens  is  now 
bartered  for  food ;  the  merchants  who  hold  the  market  reap 
a  rich  harvest  of  spoil;  but  the  hungry  are  filled,  the  weak 
are  revived,  every  one  is  content. 

It  is  the  end  of  the  second  day  since  the  free  sale  of  pro- 
visions and  the  liberty  of  egress  from  the  city  have  been 
permitted  by  the  Goths.  The  gates  are  closed  for  the  night, 
and  the  people  are  quietly  returning,  laden  with  their  sup- 
plies of  food,  to  their  homes.  Their  eyes  no  longer  encoun- 
ter the  terrible  traces  of  the  march  of  pestilence  and  famine 
through  every  street ;  the  corpses  have  been  removed,  and 
the  sick  are  watched  and  sheltered.  Rome  is  cleansed  from 
her  pollutions,  and*  the  virtues  of  household  life  begin  to  re- 
vive wherever  they  once  existed.  Death  has  thinned  every 
family,  but  the  survivors  again  assemble  together  in  the  so- 
cial hall.  Even  the  veriest  criminals,  the  lowest  outcasts  of 
the  population,  are  united  harmlessly  for  a  while  in  the  gen- 
eral participation  of  the  first  benefits  of  peace. 

To  follow  the  citizens  to  their  homes;  to  trace  in  their 
thoughts,  words,  and  actions,  the  effect  on  them  of  their  de- 
liverance from  the  horrors  of  the  blockade ;  to  contemplate 
in  the  people  of  a  whole  city,  now  recovering,  as  it  were, 
from  a  deep  swoon,  the  varying  forms  of  the  first  reviving 
symptoms  in  all  classes— in  good  and  bad,  rich  and  poor — 
would  afford  matter  enough  in  itself  for  a  romance  of  search- 
ing human  interest,  for  a  drama  of  the  passions,  moving  ab- 
sorbingly through  strange,  intricate,  and  contrasted  scenes. 
But  another  employment  than  this  now  claims  our  care.  It 
is  to  an  individual,  and  not  to  a  divided  source  of  interest, 
that  our  attention  turns;  we  relinquish  all  observations  on 
the  general  mass  of  the  populace,  to  revert  to  Numerian  and 
Antonina  alone — to  penetrate  once  more  into  the  little  dwell- 
ing on  the  Pincian  Hill. 

The  apartme;n  where  the  father  and  daughter  had  suffer- 
ed the  pangs  of  famine  together  during  the  period  of  the 
blockade,  presented  an  appearance  far  different  from  that 
which  it  had  displayed  on  the  occasion  when  they  had  last 
occupied  it.  The  formerly  bare  walls  were  now  covered 
with  rich,  thick  hangings ;  and  the  simple  couch  and  scanty 
table  of  other  days  had  been  exchanged  for  whatever  was 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  421 

most  luxurious  and  complete  in  the  household  furniture  of 
the  age.  At  one  end  of  the  room  three  women,  attended 
by  a  little  girl,  were  engaged  in  preparing  some  dishes  of 
fruit  and  vegetables;  at  the  other,  two  men  were  occupied 
in  low,  earnest  conversation,  occasionally  looking  round  anx- 
iously to  a  couch  placed  against  the  third  side  of  the  apart- 
ment, on  which  Antonina  lay  extended,  while  Numerian 
watched  by  her  in  silence.  The  point  of  Goisvintha's  knife 
had  struck  deep,  but,  as  yet,  the  fatal  purpose  of  the  assas- 
sination had  failed. 

The  girl's  eyes  were  closed ;  her  lips  were  parted  in  the 
languor  of  suffering ;  one  of  her  hands  lay  listless  on  her  fa- 
ther's knee.  A  slight  expression  of  pain,  melancholy  in  its 
very  slightness,  appeared  on  her  pale  face,  and  occasionally 
a  long-drawn,  quivering  breath  escaped  her  —  nature's  last 
touching  utterance  of  its  own  feebleness  !  The  old  man,  as 
he  sat  by  her  side,  fixed  on  her  a  wistful,  inquiring  glance. 
Sometimes  he  raised  his  hand  and  gently  and  mechanically 
moved  to  and  fro  the  long  locks  of  her  hair,  as  they  spread 
over  the  head  of  the  couch  ;  but  he  never  turned  to  commu- 
nicate with  the  other  persons  in  the  room — he  sat  as  if  he 
saw  nothing  save  his  daughter's  figure  stretched  before  him, 
and  heard  nothing  save  the  faint,  fluttering  sound  of  her 
breathing,  close  at  his  ear. 

It  was  now  dark,  and  one  lamp,  hanging  from  the  ceiling, 
threw  a  soft  equal  light  over  the  room.  The  different  per- 
sons occupying  it  presented  but  little  evidence  of  health 
and  strength  in  their  countenances,  to  contrast  them  in  ap- 
pearance with  the  wounded  girl ;  all  had  undergone  the 
wasting  visitation  of  the  famine,  and  all  were  pale  and  lan- 
guid, like  her.  A  strange,  indescribable  harmony  prevailed 
over  the  scene.  Even  the  calmness  of  absorbing  expecta- 
tion and  trembling  hope,  expressed  in  the  demeanor  of  Nu- 
merian, seemed  reflected  in  the  actions  of  those  around  him, 
in  the  quietness  with  which  the  women  pursued  their  em- 
ployment, in  the  lower  and  lower  whispers  in  which  the 
men  continued  their  conversation.  There  was  something 
pervading  the  air  of  the  whole  apartment  that  conveyed  a 
sense  of  the  solemn,  unworldly  stillness  which  we  attach  to 
the  abstract  idea  of  religion. 

Of  the  two  men  cautiously  talking   together,  one   was 


422  antonixa;  or,  the  fall  of  eome. 

the  patrician  Vetranio ;  the  other,  a  celebrated  physician  of 
Rome. 

Both  the  countenance  and  manner  of  the  senator  gave 
melancholy  proof  that  the  orgy  at  his  palace  had  altered 
him  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  looked  what  he  was,  a  man 
changed  forever  in  constitution  and  character.  A  fixed  ex- 
pression of  anxiety  and  gloom  appeared  in  his  eyes ;  his 
emaciated  face  was  occasionally  distorted  by  a  nervous,  in- 
voluntary contraction  of  the  muscles ;  it  was  evident  that 
the  paralyzing  effect  of  the  debauch  which  had  destroyed 
his  companions  would  remain  with  him  to  the  end  of  his  ex- 
istence. No  remnant  of  his  careless  self-possession,  his  easy, 
patrician  affability,  appeared  in  his  manner,  as  he  now  listen- 
ed to  his  companion's  conversation  ;  years  seemed  to  have 
been  added  to  his  life  since  he  had  headed  the  table  at  "  The 
Banquet  of  Famine." 

"Yes,"  said  the  physician,  a  cold,  calm  man,  who  spoke 
much,  but  pronounced  all  his  words  with  emphatic  deliber- 
ation^-" yes,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  the  wound,  in  itself, 
was  not  mortal.  If  the  blade  of  the  knife  had  entered  near 
the  centre  of  the  neck,  she  must  have  died  when  she  was 
struck.  But  it  passed  outward  and  backward :  the  large 
vessels  escaped  ;  no  vital  part  has  been  touched." 

"And  yet  you  persist  in  declaring  that  you  doubt  her  re- 
covery !"  exclaimed  Vetranio,  in  low,  mournful  tones. 

"I  do,"  pursued  the  physician.  "She  must  have  been  ex- 
hausted in  mind  and  body  when  she  received  the  blow — I 
have  watched  her  carefully ;  I  know  it  !  There  is  nothing 
of  the  natural  health  and  strength  of  youth  to  oppose  the 
effects  of  the  wound.  I  have  seen  the  old  die  from  injuries 
that  the  young  recover  from,  because  life,  in  them,  was  los- 
ing its  powers  of  resistance :  she  is  in  the  position  of  the 
old!" 

^^They  have  died  before  me,  and  she  will  die  before  me! 
I  shall  lose  all — all !"  sighed  Vetranio  bitterly  to  himself. 

"  The  resources  of  our  art  are  exhausted,"  continued  the 
other;  "nothing  remains  but  to  watch  carefully  and  wait_ 
patiently ;  the  chances  of  life  or  death  will  be  decided  in  a 
few  hours:  they  are  equally  balanced  now." 

"  I  shall  lose  all ! — all  !"  repeated  the  senator,  mournfully, 
as  if  he  heeded  not  the  last  words. 


ANTONINA ;  OB,  THE  PALL  OF  ROME.         423 

"If  she  dies,"  said  the  physician,  speaking  in  warmer 
tones,  for  he  was  struck  with  pity,  in  spite  of  himself,  at  the 
spectacle  ofVetranio's  utter  dejection — "if  she  dies,  you  can 
at  least  remember  that  all  that  could  be  done  to  secure  her 
life  has  been  done  by  you.  Her  father,  helpless  in  his  leth- 
argy and  his  age,  was  fitted  only  to  sit  and  watch  her,  as  he 
has  sat  and  watched  her  day  after  day ;  but  you  have  spared 
nothing,  forgotten  nothing.  Whatever  I  have  asked  for, 
that  you  have  provided  :  the  hangings  round  the  room,  and 
the  couch  that  she  lies  on,  are  yours ;  the  first  fresh  supplies 
of  nourishment  from  the  newly-opened  markets  were  brought 
here  from  you.  I  told  you  that  she  was  thinking  incessantly 
of  what  she  had  suffered ;  that  it  was  necessary  to  preserve 
her  against  her  own  recollections;  that  the  presence  of  wom- 
en about  her  might  do  good ;  that  a  child  appearing  some- 
times in  the  room  might  soothe  her  fancy,  might  make  her 
look  at  what  was  passing,  instead  of  thinking  of  what  had 
passed ;  you  found  them,  and  sent  them  !  I  have  seen  par- 
ents less  anxious  for  their  children,  lovers  for  their  mistress- 
es, than  you  for  this  girl." 

"My  destiny  is  with  her,"  interrupted  Vetranio,  looking 
round  superstitiously  to  the  frail  form  on  the  couch.  "  I 
know  nothing  of  the  mysteries  that  the  Christians  call  their 
'  Faith  ;'  but  I  believe  now  in  the  soul.  I  believe  that  one 
soul  contains  the  fate  of  another,  and  that  her  soul  contains 
the  fate  of  mine  !" 

The  physician  shook  his  head  derisively.  His  calling  had 
determined  his  philosophy — he  was  as  ardent  a  materialist 
as  Epicurus  himself 

"  Listen,"  said  Vetranio ;  "  since  I  first  saw  her,  a  change 
came  over  my  whole  being ;  it  was  as  if  her  life  was  min- 
gled with  mine  !  I  had  no  influence  over  her,  save  an  influ- 
ence for  ill :  I  loved  her,  and  she  was  driven  defenseless  from 
her  home  !  I  sent  my  slaves  to  search  Rome  night  and  day ; 
I  exerted  all  my  power,  I  lavished  my  wealth  to  discover  her; 
and,  for  the  first  time,  in  this  one  effort,  I  failed  in  what  I 
had  undertaken.  I  felt  that  through  me  she  was  lost — dead  ! 
Days  passed  on ;  life  weighed  weary  on  me ;  the  famine 
came.  You  know  in  what  way  I  determined  that  my  ca- 
reer should  close ;  the  rumor  of  the  Banquet  of  Famine 
reached  you  as  it  reached  others !" 


424         ANTONTNA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

"It  did,"  replied  the  physician.  "And  I  see  before  me, 
in  your  face,"  he  added,  after  a  momentary  pause,  "  the  hav- 
oc which  that  ill-omened  banquet  has  worked.  My  friend, 
be  advised  ! — abandon  forever  the  turmoil  of  your  Roman 
palace,  and  breathe  in  tranquillity  the  air  of  a  country  home. 
The  strength  you  once  had  is  gone  never  to  return — if  you 
would  yet  live,  husband  what  is  still  left." 

"Hear  me,"  pursued  Vetranio,  in  low,  gloomy  tones:  "I 
stood  alone  in  my  doomed  palace;  the  friends  whom  I  had 
tempted  to  their  destruction  lay  lifeless  around  me;  the 
torch  was  in  my  hand  that  was  to  light  our  funeral  pile,  to 
set  us  free  from  the  loathsome  world  !  I  approached  trium- 
phantly to  kindle  the  annihilating  flames,  when  she  stood  be- 
fore me  —  sAe,  whom  I  had  sought  as  lost,  and  mourned  as 
dead  !  A  strong  hand  seemed  to  wrench  the  torch  from 
me ;  it  dropped  to  the  ground  !  She  departed  again  ;  but  I 
was  powerless  to  take  it  up:  her  look  was  still  before  me; 
her  face,  her  figure  —  she,  herself,  appeared  ever  watching 
between  the  torch  and  me  !" 

"  Lower  ! — speak  lower  !"  interrupted  the  physician,  look- 
ing on  the  senator's  agitated  features  with  unconcealed  as- 
tonishment and  pity.  "  You  retard  your  own  recovery — you 
disturb  the  girl's  repose,  by  discourse  such  as  this." 

"The  officers  of  the  senate,"  continued  Vetranio,  sadly  re- 
suming his  gentler  tones,  "  when  they  entered  the  palace, 
found  me  still  standing  on  the  place  where  we  had  met! 
Days  passed  on  again:  I  stood  looking  out  upon  the  street, 
and  thought  of  my  companions  whom  I  had  lured  to  their 
death,  and  of  my  oath  to  partake  their  fate,  which  I  had 
never  fulfilled.  I  would  have  driven  my  dagger  to  my 
heart;  but  her  face  was  yet  before  me,  my  hands  were 
bound!  In  that  hour  I  saw  her  for  the  second  time;  saw 
her  carried  past  me — wounded,  assassinated  !  She  had  saved 
me  once;  she  had  saved  me  twice!  I  knew  that  now  the 
chance  was  offered  me,  after  having  wrought  her  ill,  to 
work  her  good  ;  after  failing  to  discover  her  when  she  was 
lost,  to  succeed  in  saving  her  when  she  was  dying ;  after 
having  survived  the  deaths  of  my  friends  at  my  own  table, 
to  survive  to  see  life  restored  under  my  influence,  as  well 
as  destroyed!  These  were  my  thoughts;  these  are  my 
thoughts  still — thoughts  felt  only  since  I  saw  her!    Do  you 


AJfTONIXA;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    KOME.  425 

know  now  why  I  believe  that  her  soul  contains  the  fate 
of  mine?  Do  you  see  rae,  weakened,  shattered,  old  before 
my  time;  my  friends  lost,  my  fresh  feelings  of  youth  gone 
forever;  and  can  you  not  now  comprehend  that  her  life  is 
tny  life? — that  if  she  dies,  the  one  good  purpose  of  my  ex- 
istence is  blighted?  —  that  I  lose  all  I  have  henceforth  to 
livefor?— all,  all!" 

As  he  pronounced  the  concluding  words,  the  girl's  eyes 
half  unclosed  and  turned  languidly  toward  her  father.  She 
made  an  effort  to  lift  her  hand  caressingly  from  his  knee  to 
his  neck  ;  but  her  strength  was  unequal  even  to  this  slight 
action.  The  hand  was  raised  only  a  few  inches  ere  it  sank 
back  again  to  its  old  position  ;  a  tear  rolled  slowly  over  her 
cheek  as  she  closed  her  eyes  again,  but  she  never  spoke. 

"See,"  said  the  physician,  pointing  to  her,  "the  current 
of  life  is  at  its  lowest  ebb !  If  it  flows  again,  it  must  flow 
to-night." 

Vetranio  made  no  answer:  he  dropped  down  on  the  seat 
near  him,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  robe. 

The  physician,  beholding  the  senator's  situation,  and  re- 
flecting on  the  strange,  hurriedly-uttered  confession  which 
had  just  been  addressed  to  him,  began  to  doubt  whether  the 
scenes  through  which  his  patron  had  lately  passed  had  not 
affected  his  brain.  Philosopher  though  he  was,  the  man  of 
science  had  never  observed  the  outward  symptoms  of  the 
first  working  of  good  and  pure  influences  in  elevating  a  de- 
graded mind  ;  he  had  never  watched  the  denoting  signs  of 
speech  and  action  which  mark  the  progress  of  mental  revo- 
lution while  the  old  nature  is  changing  for  the  new  :  such 
objects  of  contemplation  existed  not  for  him.  He  gently 
touched  Vetranio  on  the  shoulder.  "  Rise,"  said  he,  "  and 
let  us  depart.  Those  are  around  her  who  can  watch  her 
best.  Nothing  remains  for  us  but  to  wait  and  hope.  With 
the  earliest  morning  we  will  return." 

He  delivered  a  few  farewell  directions  to  one  of  the  wom- 
en in  attendance,  and  then,  accompanied  by  the  senator, 
who,  without  speaking  again,  mechanically  rose  to  follow 
him,  quitted  the  room. 

After  this,  the  silence  was  only  interrupted  by  the  sound 
of  an  occasional  whisper,  and  of  quick,  light  footsteps  pass- 
ing  backward   and   forward.     Then    the    cooling,  reviving 


426  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL   OF   KOMB. 

draughts  which  had  been  prepared  for  the  night  were  pour- 
ed ready  into  the  cups ;  and  the  women  approached  Nu- 
merian,  as  if  to  address  him,  but  he  waved  his  hand  im- 
patiently when  he  saw  them ;  and  then  they,  too,  in  their 
turn,  departed,  to  wait  in  an  adjoining  apartment  until  they 
should  be  summoned  again. 

Nothing  changed  in  the  manner  of  the  father  when  he 
was  left  alone  in  the  chamber  of  sickness,  which  the  lapse 
of  a  few  hours  might  convert  into  the  chamber  of  death. 
He  sat  watching  Antonina,  and  touching  the  outspread 
locks  of  her  hair  from  time  to  time,  as  had  been  his  wont. 
It  was  a  fair,  starry  night :  the  fresh  air  of  the  soft  winter 
climate  of  the  South  blew  gently  over  the  earth;  the  great 
city  was  sinking  fast  into  tranquillity ;  calling  voices  were 
sometimes  heard  faintly  from  the  principal  streets;  and  the 
distant  notes  of  martial  music  sounded  cheerily  from  the 
Gothic  camp  as  the  sentinels  were  posted  along  the  line  of 
watch.  But  soon  these  noises  ceased,  and  the  stillness  of 
Rome  was  as  the  stillness  round  the  couch  of  the  wounded 

Day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  since  the  assassina- 
tion in  the  temple,  Numerian  had  kept  the  same  place  by 
his  daughter's  side.  Each  hour  as  it  passed,  found  him  still 
absorbed  in  his  long  vigil  of  hope :  his  life  seemed  suspend- 
ed in  its  onward  course  by  the  one  influence  that  now  en- 
thralled it.  At  the  brief  intervals  when  his  bodily  weari- 
ness overpowered  him  on  his  melancholy  watch,  it  was  ob- 
served by  those  around  him  that,  even  in  his  short  dream- 
ing slumbers,  his  face  remained  ever  turned  in  the  same  di- 
rection, toward  the  head  of  the  couch,  as  if  drawn  thither  by 
some  irresistible  attraction,  by  some  powerful  ascendency 
felt  even  amidst  the  deepest  repose  of  sensation,  the  heav- 
iest fatigue  of  the  overlabored  mind,  and  the  worn,  sink- 
ing heart.  He  held  no  communication,  save  by  signs,  with 
the  friends  about  him ;  he  seemed  neither  to  hope,  to  doubt, 
nor  to  despair  with  them ;  all  his  faculties  were  strung  up 
to  vibrate  at  one  point  only,  and  were  dull  and  unimpress- 
ible  in  every  other  direction. 

But  twice  had  he  been  heard  to  speak  more  than  the  few- 
est, simplest  words.  The  first  time,  when  Antonina  uttered 
the  name  of  Goisvintha,  on  the  recovery  of  her  senses  after 


antonina;  or,  the  fall  of  rome.  427 

her  wound,  he  answered  eagerly  by  reiterated  declarations, 
that  there  was  nothing  henceforth  to  fear;  for  he  had  seen 
the  assassin  dead  under  the  Pagan's  foot,  on  leaving  the 
temple.  The  second  time,  \vhen  mention  was  incautious- 
ly made  before  hira  of  rumors  circulated  through  Rome  of 
the  burning  of  an  unknown  Pagan  priest,  hidden  in  the 
Temple  of  Serapis,  with  vast  treasures  around  him,  the  old 
man  was  seen  to  start  and  shudder,  and  heard  to  pray  for 
the  soul  that  was  now  waiting  before  the  dread  Judgment- 
seat;  to  murmur  about  a  vain  restoration,  and  a  discovery 
made  too  late ;  to  mourn  over  horror  that  thickened  around 
him,  over  hope  fruitlessly  awakened,  and  bereavement  more 
terrible  than  mortal  had  ever  suffered  before;  to  entreat 
that  the  child,  the  last  left  of  all,  might  be  spared — with 
many  words  more,  which  ran  on  themes  like  these,  and 
which  were  counted  by  all  who  listened  to  them  but  as  the 
wanderings  of  a  mind  whose  higher  powers  were  fatally 
prostrated  by  feebleness  and  grief. 

One  long  hour  of  the  night  had  already  passed  away  since 
parent  and  child  had  been  left  together,  and  neither  word 
nor  movement  had  been  audible  in  the  melancholy  room. 
But,  as  the  second  hour  began,  the  girl's  eyes  unclosed 
again,  and  she  moved  painfully  on  the  couch.  Accustomed 
to  interpret  the  significance  of  her  slightest  actions,  Numeri- 
an  rose  and  brought  her  one  of  the  reviving  draughts  that 
had  been  left  ready  for  use.  After  she  had  drunk,  when  her 
eyes  met  her  father's,  fixed  on  her  in  mute  and  mournful  in- 
quiry, her  lips  closed,  and  formed  themselves  into  an  ex- 
pression which  he  remembei*ed  they  had  always  assumed, 
when,  as  a  little  child,  she  used  silently  to  hold  up  her  face  to 
him  to  be  kissed.  The  miserable  contrast  between  what  she 
was  now  and  what  she  had  been  then,  was  beyond  the  pas- 
sive endurance,  the  patient  resignation  of  the  spirit-broken 
old  man :  the  empty  cup  dropped  from  his  hands,  he  knelt 
down  by  the  side  of  the  couch,  and  groaned  aloud. 

"  Oh  father !  father !"  cried  the  weak,  plaintive  voice 
above  him,  "I  am  dying!  Let  us  remember  that  our  time 
to  be  together  here  grows  shorter  and  shorter;  and  let  us 
pass  it  as  happily  as  we  can !" 

He  raised  his  head,  and  looked  up  at  her,  vacant  and  wist- 
ful, forlorn  already,  as  if  the  death-parting  was  over. 


428  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME. 

"I  have  tried  to  live  humbly  and  gratefully,"  she  sighed 
faintly.  "  I  have  longed  to  do  more  good  on  the  earth  than 
I  have  done.  Yet  you  will  forgive  me  now,  father,  as  you 
have  always  forgiven  me!  You  have  been  patient  with  me 
all  my  life;  more  patient  than  I  have  ever  deserved!  But 
I  had  no  mother  to  teach  nie  to  love  you  as  I  ought,  lo 
teach  me  what  I  know  now,  when  my  death  is  near,  and 
time  and  opportunity  are  mine  no  longer !" 

"Hush!  hush!"  whispered  the  old  man  aifrightedly, 
"you  will  live!  God  is  good,  and  knows  that  we  have  suf- 
fered enough.  The  curse  of  the  last  separation  is  not  pro- 
nounced against  ics!    Live — live  !" 

"  Father !"  said  the  girl  tenderly,  "  we  have  that  within 
us  which  not  death  itself  can  separate.  In  another  world 
I  shall  still  think  of  you,  when  you  think  of  vie/  I  shall  see 
you  even  when  I  am  no  more  here,  when  you  long  to  see 
me!  When  you  go  out  alone,  and  sit  under  the  trees  on  the 
garden  bank  where  I  used  to  sit ;  when  you  look  forth  on  the 
far  plains  and  mountains  that  I  used  to  look  on ;  when  you 
read  at  night  in  the  Bible  that  we  have  read  in  together, 
and  remember  Antonina  as  you  lie  down  sorrowful  to  rest; 
then  I  shall  see  you  ;  t/ien  you  will  feel  that  I  am  looking  on 
you !  You  will  be  calm  and  consoled,  even  by  the  side  of 
my  grave;  for  you  will  think,  not  of  the  body  that  is  be- 
neath, but  of  the  spirit  that  is  waiting  for  you,  as  I  have 
often  waited  for  you  here  when  you  were  away,  and  I 
knew  that  the  approach  of  evening  would  bring  you  home 
again !" 

"  Hush !  you  will  live ! — you  will  live !"  repeated  Numerian, 
in  the  same  low,  vacant  tones.  The  strength  that  still  up- 
held him  was  in  those  few  simple  words:  they  were  the 
food  of  a  hope  that  was  born  in  agony  and  cradled  in  de- 
spair. 

"Oh,  if  J  might  Vive  !"  said  the  girl,  softly — "  if  I  might  live 
but  for  a  few  days,  yet  how  much  I  have  to  live  for !"  She 
endeavored  to  bend  her  head  toward  her  father  as  she  spoke; 
for  the  words  were  begiiming  to  fall  faintly  and  more  faint- 
ly from  her  lips — exhaustion  was  mastering  her  once  again. 
She  dwelt  for  a  moment  now  on  the  name  of  Herraanric,  on 
the  grave  in  the  farm-house  garden ;  then  reverted  again  to 
her  father.     The  last  feeble  sounds  she  uttered  were  ad- 


ANTOXIXA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL    OF    ROME.  429 

(liessed  to  him;  and  their  burden  was  still  of  consolation 
and  of  love. 

Soon  the  old  man,  as  he  stooped  over  her,  saw  her  eyes 
close  again — those  innocent,  gentle  eyes,  which  even  yet  pre- 
served their  old  expression  while  the  face  grew  wan  and 
pale  around  them — and  darkness  and  night  sank  down  over 
his  soul  while  he  looked.  "She  sleeps,"  he  murmured  in  a 
voice  of  awe,  as  he  resumed  his  watching  position  by  the 
side  of  the  couch.  "  They  call  death  a  sleep ;  but  on  her 
face  there  is  no  death  !" 

The  night  grew  on.  The  women  who  were  in  attendance 
entered  the  room  about  midnight,  wondering  that  their  as- 
sistance had  not  yet  been  required.  They  beheld  the  sol- 
emn, unruffled  composure  on  the  girl's  wasted  face ;  the  rapt 
attention  of  Xumerian,  as  he  ever  preserved  the  same  atti- 
tude by  her  side;  and  went  out  again  softly  without  utter- 
ing a  word,  even  in  a  whisper.  There  was  something  dread 
and  impressive  in  the  very  appearance  of  this  room ;  where 
Death,  that  destroys,  was  in  mortal  conflict  with  Youth  and 
Beauty,  that  adorn,  while  the  eyes  of  one  old  man  watched 
in  loneliness  the  awful  progress  of  the  strife. 

Morning  came  and  still  there  was  no  change.  Once,  when 
the  lamp  that  lit  the  room  was  fading  out  as  the  dawn  ap- 
peared, Xumerian  had  risen  and  looked  close  on  his  daugh- 
ter's face  —  he  thought  at  that  moment  that  her  features 
moved;  but  he  saw  that  the  flickering  of  the  dying  light  on 
them  had  deceived  him ;  the  same  stillness  was  over  her. 
He  placed  his  ear  close  to  her  lips  for  an  instant,  and  then 
resumed  his  place,  not  stirring  from  it  again.  The  slow 
current  of  his  blood  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  pause:  he 
was  waiting  as  a  man  waits  with  his  head  on  the  block,  ere 
the  axe  descends — as  a  mother  waits  to  hear  that  the  breath 
of  life  has  entered  her  new-born  child. 

The  sun  rose  bright  in  a  cloudless  sky.  As  the  fresh, 
sharp  air  of  the  early  dawn  warmed  under  its  spreading 
rays,  the  women  entered  the  apartment  again,  and  partly 
drew  aside  the  curtain  and  shutter  from  the  window.  The 
beams  of  the  new  light  fell  fair  and  glorifying  on  the  girl's 
face;  the  faint,  calm  breeze  ruffled  the  lighter  locks  of  her 
hair.  Once  this  would  have  awakened  her;  but  it  did  not 
disturb  her  now. 


430  ANTONINA  ;    OE,  THE   FALL    OP   EOME. 

Soon  after,  the  voice  of  the  child  who  sojourned  with  the 
women  in  the  house  was  heard  beneath,  in  the  hall,  through 
the  halt-opened  door  of  the  room.  The  little  creature  was 
slowly  ascending  the  stairs,  singing  her  faltering  morning 
song  to  herself  She  was  preceded  on  her  approach  by  a 
tame  dove,  bought  at  the  provision  market  outside  the  walls, 
but  preserved  for  the  child  as  a  pet  and  plaything  by  its 
mother.  The  bird  fluttered,  cooing,  into  the  room,  perched 
upon  the  head  of  the  couch,  and  began  dressing  its  feath- 
ers there.  The  women  had  caught  the  infection  of  the  old 
man's  enthralling  suspense,  and  moved  not,  to  bid  the  child 
retire,  or  to  take  away  the  dove  from  its  place:  they  watch- 
ed like  him.  But  the  soft,  lulling  notes  of  the  bird  were 
powerless  over  the  girl's  ear,  as  the  light  sunbeam  over  her 
face — still  she  never  woke. 

The  child  entered,  and  pausing  in  her  song,  climbed  on  to 
the  side  of  the  couch.  She  held  out  one  little  hand  for  the 
dove  to  perch  upon,  placed  the  other  lightly  on  Antonina's 
shoulder,  and  pressed  her  fresh,  rosy  lips  to  the  girl's  faded 
cheek.  "I  and  my  bird  have  come  to  make  Antoniua  well 
this  morning,"  she  said,  gravely. 

The  still,  heavily-closed  eyelids  moved !  —  they  quivered, 
opened,  closed,  then  opened  again.  The  eyes  had  a  faint, 
dreaming,  unconscious  look ;  but  Antonina  lived  !  Antonina 
was  awakened  at  last  to  another  day  on  earth  ! 

Her  father's  rigid,  straining  gaze  still  remained  fixed  upon 
her  as  at  first ;  but  on  his  countenance  there  was  a  blank, 
an  absence  of  all  appearance  of  sensation  and  life.  The 
women,  as  they  looked  on  Antonina  and  looked  on  him,  be- 
gan to  weep ;  the  child  resumed  very  softly  its  morning 
song,  now  addressing  it  to  the  wounded  girl  and  now  to  the 
dove. 

At  this  moment  Vetranio  and  the  physician  appeared  on 
the  scene.  The  latter  advanced  to  the  couch,  removed  the 
child  from  it,  and  examined  Antonina  intently.  At  length, 
partly  addressing  Numerian,  partly  speaking  to  himself,  he 
said,  "She  has  slept  long,  deeply,  without  moving,  almost 
without  breathing  —  a  sleep  like  death  to  all  who  looked 
on  it." 

The  old  man  spoke  not  in  reply,  but  the  women  answer- 
ed eagerly  in  the  affirmative. 


antonina;  or,  the  pall  of  romb.  431 

"She  is  saved,"  pursued  the  physician,  leisurely  quitting 
the  side  of  the  couch,  and  smiling  on  Vetranio;  "be  careful 
of  her  for  days  and  days  to  come." 

"  Saved !  saved !"  echoed  the  child  joyfully,  setting  the 
dove  free  in  the  room,  and  running  to  Numerian  to  climb 
on  his  knees.  The  father  glanced  down,  when  the  clear, 
young  voice  sounded  in  his  ear.  The  springs  of  joy,  so  long 
dried  up  in  his  heart,  welled  forth  again,  as  he  saw  the  little 
hands  raised  toward  him  entreatingly ;  his  gray  head  droop- 
ed— he  wept. 

At  a  sign  from  the  physician  the  child  was  led  from  the 
room.  The  silence  of  deep  and  solemn  emotion  was  pre- 
served by  all  who  remained ;  nothing  was  heard  but  the 
suppressed  sobs  of  the  old  man,  and  the  faint,  retiring  notes 
of  the  infant  voice,  still  singing  its  morning  song.  And  now 
one  word,  joyfully  reiterated  again  and  again,  made  ail  the 
burden  of  the  music : 

"Saved!  Saved!" 


THE  CONCLUSION. 

UBI   THESAURUS   IBI    COR. 


Shortly  after  the  opening  of  the  provision  markets  out- 
side the  gates  of  Rome,  the  Goths  broke  up  their  camp  be- 
fore the  city,  and  retired  to  winter  quarters  in  Tuscany. 
The  negotiations  which  endued  between  Alaric  and  the 
Court  and  Government  at  Ravenna  were  conducted  with 
cunning  moderation  by  the  conqueror,  and, with  infatuated 
audacity  by  the  conquered,  and  ultimately  terminated  in  a 
resumption  of  hostilities.  Rome  was  besieged  a  second  and 
a  third  time  by  "the  barbarians."  On  the  latter  occasion 
the  city  was  sacked ;  its  palaces  were  burned  ;  its  treasures 
were  seized ;  the  monuments  of  the  Christian  religion  were 
alone  respected. 

But  it  is  no  longer  with  the  Goths  that  our  narrative  is 
concerned ;  the  connection  with  them  which  it  has  hitherto 
maintained,  closes  with  the  end  of  the  first  siege  of  Rome. 
We  can  claim  the  reader's  attention  for  historical  events 
no  more — the  march  of  our  little  pageant,  arrayed  for  his 


432  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE    FALL   OF   BOME. 

pleasure,  is  over.  If,  however,  he  has  felt,  and  still  retains, 
some  interest  in  Antonina,  he  will  not  refuse  to  follow  us 
and  look  on  her  again  ere  we  part. 

More  than  a  month  had  passed  since  the  besieging  army 
had  retired  to  their  winter  quarters,  when  several  of  the  cit- 
izens of  Rome  assembled  themselves  on  the  plains  beyond 
the  walls,  to  enjoy  one  of  those  rustic  festivals  of  ancient 
times,  which  are  still  celebrated,  under  different  usages,  but 
with  the  same  spirit,  by  the  Italians  of  modern  days. 

The  place  was  a  level  plot  of  ground  beyond  the  Pincian 
Gate,  backed  by  a  thick  grove  of  pine-trees,  and  looking  to- 
ward the  north  over  the  smooth  extent  of  the  countiy  round 
Rome.  The  persons  congregated  were  mostly  of  the  lower 
class.  Their  amusements  were  dancing,  music,  games  of 
strength,  ajid  games  of  chance ;  and  above  all,  to  people 
who  had  lately  suffered  the  extremities  of  famine,  abundant 
eating  and  drinking — long  serious,  ecstatic  enjoyment  of  the 
powers  of  mastication  and  the  faculties  of  taste. 

Among  the  assembly  were  some  individuals  whose  dress 
and  manner  raised  them,  outwardly  at  least,  above  the  gen- 
eral mass.  These  persons  walked  backward  and  forward 
together  on  different  parts  of  the  ground,  as  observers,  not 
as  partakers  in  the  sports.  One  of  their  number,  however, 
in  whatever  direction  he  turned,  preserved  an  isolated  posi- 
tion. He  held  an  open  letter  in  his  hand,  which  he  looked 
at  from  time  to  time,  and  appeared  to  be  wholly  absorbed  in 
his  own  thoughts.  This  man  we  may  advantageously  par- 
ticularize on  his  own  account,  as  well  as  on  account  of  the 
peculiarity  of  his  accidental  situation ;  for  he  was  the  favor- 
ed minister  of  Vetranio's  former  pleasures — "  the  industri- 
ous Carrio." 

The  freed  man  (who  was  last  introduced  to  the  reader  in 
Chapter  XIV.,  as  exhibiting  to  Vetranio  the  store  of  offal 
which  he  had  collected  during  the  famine,  for  the  consump- 
tion of  the  palace)  had  contrived  of  late  greatly  to  increase 
his  master's  confidence  in  him.  On  the  organization  of  the 
Banquet  of  Famine,  he  had  discreetly  refrnined  from  testify- 
ing the  smallest  desire  to  save  himself  from  the  catastrophe 
in  which  the  senator  and  his  friends  had  determined  to  in- 
volve themselves.  Securing  himself  in  a  place  of  safety,  he 
awaited  the  end  of  the  orgy ;  and  when  he  found  that  its 


antonina;  or,  thk  fall  of  rome.  433 

unexpected  termination  left  his  master  still  living  to  employ 
liini,  appeared  again  as  a  faithful  servant,  ready  to  resume 
his  customary  occupation  with  undiminished  zeal. 

After  the  dispersion  of  his  household  during  the  famine, 
and  amidst  the  general  confusion  of  the  social  system  in 
Rome,  on  the  raising  of  the  blockade,  Vetranio  found  no  one 
near  him  that  he  could  trust  but  Carrio  —  ai^,d  he  trusted 
him.  Nor  was  the  confidence  misplaced :  the  man  was  sel- 
fish and  sordid  enough  ;  but  these  very  qualities  insured  his 
fidelity  to  his  master,  as  long  as  that  master  retained  the 
power  to  punish  and  the  capacity  to  reward. 

The  letter  which  Carrio  held  in  his  hand  was  addressed 
to  him  at  a  villa — from  which  he  had  just  returned — belong- 
ing to  Vetranio,  on  the  shores  of  the  Bay  of  Naples,  and  was 
written  by  the  senator,  from  Rome.  The  introductory  por- 
tions of  this  communication  seemed  to  interest  the  freedman 
but  little:  they  contained  praises  of  his  diligence  in  prepar- 
ing the  country-house  for  the  immediate  habitation  of  its 
owner,  and  expressed  his  master's  anxiety  to  quit  Rome  as 
speedily  as  possible,  for  the  sake  of  living  in  perfect  tran- 
quillity, and  breathing  the  reviving  air  of  the  sea,  as  the  phy- 
sicians had  counseled.  It  was  the  latter  part  of  the  letter 
that  Carrio  perused  and  reperused,  and  then  meditated  over 
with  unwonted  attention  and  labor  of  mind.     It  ran  thus: 

"  I  have  now  to  repose  in  you  a  trust,  which  you  will  ex- 
ecute with  perfect  fidelity  as  you  value  my  favor,  or  respect 
the  wealth  from  which  you  may  obtain  your  reward.  When 
you  left  Rome,  you  left  the  daughter  of  Numerian  lying  in 
danger  of  death :  she  has  since  revived.  Questions  that  I 
have  addressed  to  her  during  her  recovery,  have  informed 
me  of  much  in  her  history  that  I  knew  not  before;  and  have 
induced  me  to  purchase,  for  reasons  of  my  own,  a  farm-house 
and  its  lands,  beyond  the  suburbs.  (The  extent  of  the  j)lace 
and  its  situation  are  written  on  the  vellum  that  is  within 
this).  The  husbandman  who  cultivated  the  property  has 
survived  the  famine,  and  will  continue  to  cultivate  it  for  me. 
But,  it  is  my  desire  that  the  garden,  and  all  that  it  contains, 
sliall  remain  entirely  at  the  disposal  of  Numerian  and  his 
daughter,  who  may  often  repair  to  it ;  and  who  must  hence- 
forth be  regarded  there  as  occupying  my  place  and  having 
my  authority.     You  will  divide  your  time  between  over- 

19 


434  ANTONINA;    or,  the   pall   of   ROME. 

looking  the  few  slaves  whom  I  leave  at  the  palace  in  my  ab- 
sence, and  the  husbandman  and  his  laborers  whom  I  have 
installed  at  the  farm ;  and  you  will  answer  to  me  for  the  due 
performance  of  your  own  duties,  and  the  duties  of  those  un- 
der you ;  being  assured  that  by  well  filling  this  office,  you 
will  serve  your  own  interests  in  these,  and  in  all  things  be- 
sides." 

The  letter  concluded  by  directing  the  freedman  to  return 
to  Rome  on  a  certain  day,  and  to  go  to  the  farm-house  at 
an  appointed  hour,  there  to  meet  his  master,  who  had  fur- 
ther directions  to  give  him,  and  who  would  visit  the  newly- 
acquired  property  before  he  proceeded  on  his  journey  to 
Naples. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  perplexity  of  Carrio,  as  he  read 
the  passage  in  his  patron's  letter  which  we  have  quoted 
above.  Remembering  the  incidents  attending  Vetranio's 
early  connection  with  Antonina  and  her  father,  the  mere  cir- 
cumstance of  a  farm  having  been  purchased  to  flatter  what 
was  doubtless  some  accidental  caprice  on  the  part  of  the 
girl,  would  have  little  astonished  him.  But  that  this  act 
should  be  followed  by  the  senator's  immediate  separation 
of  himself  from  the  society  of  Numerian's  daughter ;  that 
she  was  to  gain  nothing,  after  all,  from  these  lands  which 
had  evidently  been  bought  at  her  instigation,  but  the  au- 
thority over  a  little  strip  of  garden;  and  yet  the  inviolabili- 
ty of  this  valueless  privilege  should  be  insisted  on  in  such 
serious  terms,  and  with  such  an  imperative  tone  of  command 
as  the  senator  had  never  been  known  to  use  before — these 
were  inconsistencies  which  all  Carrio's  ingenuity  failed  to 
reconcile.  The  man  had  been  born  and  reared  in  vice :  vice 
had  fed  him,  clothed  him,  freed  him,  given  him  character, 
reputation,  power  in  his  own  small  way — he  lived  in  it,  as 
in  the  atmosphere  that  he  breathed :  to  show  him  an  action 
referable  only  to  a  principle  of  pure  integrity,  was  to  set 
him  a  problem  which  it  was  hopeless  to  solve.  And  yet  it 
is  impossible,  in  one  point  of  view,  to  pronounce  him  utterly 
worthless.  Ignorant  of  all  distinctions  between  good  and 
bad,  he  thought  wrong  from  sheer  inability  to  see  right. 

However  his  instructions  might  perplex  him,  he  followed 
them  now — and  continued  in  after  days  to  follow  them — to 
the  letter.     If  to  serve  one's  own  interests  be  an  art,  of  that 


▲irroNiKA ;  os,  the  fall  op  kome.  435 

art  Cariio  deserved  to  be  head  professor.  He  arrived  at  tlie 
farm-house,  not  only  punctually,  but  before  the  appointed 
time;  and,  calling  the  honest  husbandman  and  the  laborers 
about  him,  explained  to  them  every  particular  of  the  author- 
ity that  his  patron  had  vested  in  him,  with  a  flowing  and 
peremptory  solemnity  of  speech  which  equally  puzzled  and 
impressed  his  simple  audience.  He  found  Xumerian  and 
Antonina  in  the  garden  when  he  entered  it.  The  girl  had 
been  carried  there  daily,  in  a  litter,  since  her  recovery ;  and 
her  father  had  followed.  They  were  never  separated  now; 
the  old  man,  when  his  first  absorbing  anxiety  for  her  was 
calmed,  remembered  again  more  distinctly  the  terrible  dis- 
closure in  the  temple,  and  the  yet  raoi-e  terrible  catastrophe 
that  followed  it ;  and  sought  constant  refuge  from  the  hor- 
ror of  the  recollection  in  the  presence  of  his  child. 

The  freedman,  during  his  interview  with  the  father  and 
daughter,  observed,  for  once,  an  involuntary  and  unfeigned 
respect ;  but  he  spoke  briefly,  and  left  them  together  again 
almost  immediately.  Humble  and  helpless  as  they  were, 
they  awed  him:  they  looked,  thought,  and  spoke  like  beings 
of  another  nature  than  his;  they  were  connected,  he  knew 
not  how,  with  the  mystery  of  the  grave  in  the  garden:  he 
would  have  been  selfpossessed  in  the  presence  of  the  em- 
peror himself,  but  he  was  uneasy  in  theirs.  So  he  retired  to 
the  more  congenial  scene  of  the  public  festival  which  was 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  farm-house,  to  await 
the  hour  of  his  patron's  arrival,  and  to  perplex  himself  afresh 
by  a  reperusal  of  Vetranio's  letter. 

The  time  was  now  near  at  hand  when  it  was  necessary  for 
the  freedman  to  return  to  his  appointed  post.  He  carefully 
rolled  up  his  note  of  instructions;  stood  for  a  few  minutes 
vacantly  regarding  the  amusements  which  had  hitherto  en- 
gaged so  little  of  his  attention;  and  then  turning,  proceeded 
through  the  pine  grove  on  his  way  back.  We  will  follow 
him. 

On  leaving  the  grove,  a  foot-path  conducted  over  some 
fields  to  the  farm-house.  Arrived  here,  Carrio  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  then  moved  slowly  onward  to  await  his  master's 
approach  in  the  lane  that  led  to  the  high  -  road.  At  this 
point  we  will  part  company  with  him,  to  enter  the  garden 
by  the  wicket-gate. 


436  ANTONINA  ;    OR,  THE   FALL   OP   ROME. 

The  trees,  the  flower-beds,  and  the  patches  of  grass  all 
remained  in  their  former  positions ;  nothing  had  been  added 
or  taken  away  since  the  melancholy  days  that  were  past ; 
but  a  change  was  visible  in  Hermanric's  grave.  The  turf 
above  it  had  been  renewed,  and  a  border  of  small  evergreen 
shrubs  was  planted  over  the  track  which  Goisvintha's  foot- 
steps had  traced.  A  white  marble  cross  was  raised  at  one 
end  of  the  mound ;  the  short  Latin  inscription  on  it  signi- 
fied, "  Pray  for  the  Dead." 

The  sunlight  was  shining  calmly  over  the  grave,  and  over 
Numerian  and  Antonina,  as  they  sat  by  it.  Sometimes, 
when  the  mirth  grew  louder  at  the  rustic  festival,  it  reached 
them  in  faint,  subdued  notes;  sometimes  they  heard  the 
voices  of  the  laborers  in  the  neighboring  fields  talking  to 
each  other  at  their  work  ;  but,  besides  these,  no  other  sounds 
were  loud  enough  to  be  distinguished.  There  was  still  an 
expression  of  the  melancholy  and  feebleness  that  grief  and 
suffering  leave  behind  them,  on  the  countenances  of  the 
father  and  daughter;  but  resignation  and  peace  appeared 
there  as  well — resignation  that  was  perfected  by  the  hard 
teaching  of  woe,  and  peace  that  was  purer  for  being  impart- 
ed from  the  one  to  the  other,  like  the  strong  and  deathless 
love  from  which  it  grew. 

There  was  something  now  in  the  look  and  attitude  of  the 
girl,  as  she  sat  thinking  of  the  young  warrior  who  had  died 
in  her  defense  and  for  her  love,  and  training  the  shrubs  to 
grow  closer  round  the  grave,  which,  changed  though  she  was, 
recalled  in  a  different  form  the  old  poetry  and  tranquillity 
of  her  existence  when  we  first  saw  her  singing  to  the  music 
of  her  lute  in  the  garden  on  the  Pincian  Hill.  No  t4ioughts 
of  horror  and  despair  were  suggested  to  her  as  she  looked 
on  the  farm-house  scene.  Hers  was  not  the  grief  which 
shrinks  selfishly  from  all  that  revives  the  remembrance  of 
the  dead:  to  Aer,  their  influence  over  the  memory  was  a 
grateful  and  a  guarding  influence,  that  gave  a  better  pur- 
pose to  the  holiest  life,  and  a  nobler  nature  to  the  purest 
thoughts. 

Thus  they  were  sitting  by  the  grave — sad,  yet  content : 
footsore  already  on  the  pilgrimage  of  life,  yet  patient  to 
journey  farther  if  they  might,  when  an  unustial  tumult,  a 
noise  of  rolling  wheels,  mingled  with  a  confused  sound  of 


AlITOJnifA;    OR,  THE   FALL   OF  ROME.  437 

voices,  was  heard  in  the  lane  behind  them.  They  looked 
round,  and  saw  that  Vetranio  was  approaching  them  alone 
through  the  wicket-gate. 

He  carae  forward  slowly ;  the  stealthy  poison  instilled  by 
the  Banquet  of  Famine  palpably  displayed  its  presence  with- 
in him,  as  the  clear  sunlight  fell  on  his  pale,  wasted  face. 
He  smiled  kindly  as  he  addressed  Antonina;  but  the  bodily 
pain  and  mental  agitation  which  that  smile  was  intended  to 
conceal,  betrayed  themselves  in  his  troubled  voice  as  he 
spoke. 

"This  is  our  last  meeting  for  years — it  may  be  our  last 
meeting  for  life,"  he  said.  "  I  linger  at  the  outset  of  my 
journey,  but  to  behold  you  as  guardian  of  the  one  spot  of 
ground  that  is  most  precious  to  you  on  earth — as  mistress, 
indeed,  of  the  little  that  I  give  you  here !" —  He  paused  a 
moment  and  pointed  to  the  grave ;  then  continued :  "All  the 
atonement  that  I  owe  to  you,  you  can  never  know ;  I  can 
never  tell  I — think  only  that  I  bear  away  with  me  a  compan- 
ion in  the  solitude  to  which  I  go,  in  the  remembrance  of  you. 
Bo  calm,  good,  happy  still,  for  my  sake ;  and  while  you  for- 
give the  senator  of  former  days,  forget  not  the  friend  who 
now^  parts  from  you  in  some  sickness  and  sorrow,  but  also  in 
much  patience  and  hope!     Farewell!" 

His  hand  trembled  as  he  held  it  out ;  a  flush  overspread 
the  girl's  cheek  while  she  murmured  a  few  inarticulate 
words  of  gratitude;  and,  bending  over  it,  pressed  it  to  her 
lips.  Vetranio's  heart  beat  quick;  the  action  revived  an 
emotion  that  he  dared  not  cherish ;  but  he  looked  at  the 
wan,  downcast  face  before  him,  at  the  grave  that  rose 
mournful  by  his  side,  and  quelled  it  again.  Yet  an  instant 
he  lingered  to  exchange  a  farewell  with  the  old  man,  then 
turned  quickly,  passed  through  the  gate,  and  they  saw  him 
no  more. 

Antonina's  tears  fell  fast  on  the  grass  beneath,  as  she  re- 
sumed her  place.  When  she  raised  her  head  again,  and  saw 
that  her  father  was  looking  at  her,  she  nestled  close  to  him 
and  laid  one  of  her  arms  round  his  neck:  the  other  gradual- 
ly dropped  to  her  side,  until  her  hand  reached  the  topmost 
leaves  of  the  shrubs  that  grew  round  the  grave. 


438         ANTONINA  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  ROME. 

Shall  we  longer  delay  in  the  farm-house  garden?  No! 
For  us,  as  for  Vetranio,  it  is  now  time  to  depart !  While 
peace  still  watches  round  the  walls  of  Rome;  while  the 
hearts  of  the  father  and  daughter  still  repose  together  in 
security  after  the  trials  that  have  wrung  them,  let  us  quit 
the  scene !  Here,  at  last,  the  narrative  that  we  have  fol- 
lowed over  a  dark  and  stormy  tract,  reposes  on  a  tranquil 
field ;  and  here  let  us  cease  to  pursue  it ! 

So  the  traveler  who  traces  the  course  of  a  river,  wanders 
through  the  day  among  the  rocks  and  precipices  that  lead 
onward  from  its  troubled  source;  and,  when  the  evening  is 
at  hand,  pauses  and  rests  where  the  banks  are  grassy  and 
the  stream  is  smooth. 


THE   END. 


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STUDIES  IN  CHAUCER :  His  Life  and  Writings.  By  Thomas  R. 
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MOTLEY'S  LETTERS.  The  Correspondence  of  John  Lothrop  Mot- 
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MACAULAY'S  ENGLAND.  The  History  of  England  from  the  Ac- 
cession of  James  II.  By  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  6  vols., 
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THE  RISE  OF  THE  DUTCH  REPUBLIC.  A  History.  By  John 
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a  full  View  of  the  English-Dutch  Struggle  against  Spain,  and  of  the 
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man,  M.  Guizot,  and  Dr.  William  Smith.  6  vols.,  in  a  Box,  8vo, 
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A  MANUAL  OF  HISTORICAL  LITERATURE,  comprising  Brief 
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Courses  of  Historical  Study,  for  the  Use  of  Students,  General  Read- 
ers, and  Collectors  of  Books.  By  Charlks  Kendall  Adams,  LL.D. 
Third  Edition,  Revised  and  Enlarged.      Crown  8vo,  Clotli,  $2  50. 

ILIOS,  the  City  and  Country  of  the  Trojans.  A  Narrative  of  the  Most 
Recent  Discoveries  and  Researches  made  on  the  Plain  of  Troy.  By 
Dr.  Henry  Schliemann.  Maps,  Plans,  and  Illustrations.  Impe- 
rial 8vo,  Illuminated  Cloth,  $7  50;  Half  Morocco,  $10  00. 

TROJA.  Results  of  the  Latest  Researches  and  Discoveries  on  the 
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made  in  the  Year  1882,  and  a  Narrative  of  a  Journey  in  the  Troad 
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THE  SPANISH-AMERICAN  REPUBLICS.  By  Theodore  Child. 
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HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  By  Richard  Hildreth. 
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MEMOIR  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  OLIPHANT  and  of 

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LONDON  LETTERS,  AND  SOME  OTHERS.  By  George  W. 
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LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  GENERAL  THOMAS  J.  JACKSON 
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an  Introduction  by  Henry  M.  Field,  D.D.  Illustrated.  8vo, 
Cloth,  $2  00. 

-POLITICAL  HISTORY  OF  RECENT  TIMES  (1816-1875).  With 
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the  Rev.  John  P,  Peters,  Ph.D.      12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

IHE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  LORD  MACAULAY.  By  his 
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MEMOIRS  OF  JOHN  ADAMS  DIX.  Compiled  by  his  Son,  Mor- 
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THROUGH  THE  DARK  CONTINENT ;  or.  The  Sources  of  the 
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Livingstone  River  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  149  Illustrations  and  10 
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fHE  CONQUEST  OF   ENGLAND.     By  John   Richard  GftEEW. 

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THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  Summer  and  Winter 
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ion.  By  M.  Pattison. — Socthet.  By  E.  Dowden. — Chaucer.  By  A.  \V.  Ward. — 
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Stephen. — Sterse.  By  H.  D.  Traill.  —  Macaclay.  By  J.  C.  Morison.- Fielding. 
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THE  LAND  AND  THE  BOOK.  Biblical  Illustrations  drawn  from 
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HISTORY  OF  MEDIEVAL  ART.  By  Dr.  Franz  von  Reber. 
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HISTORY  OF  ANCIENT  ART.  By  Dr.  Fhanz  von  Reber.  Re- 
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THE  INVASION  OF  THE  CRIMEA:  its  Origin,  and  an  Account 
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LITERARY  LANDMARKS  OF  EDINBURGH.  By  Laurbnch 
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STUDIES  IN  THE  WAGNERIAN  DRAMA.  By  Hbkbt  E.  Krkh- 
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CYPRUS :  its  Ancient  Cities,  Tombs,  and  Temples.  A  Narrative  of 
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THE  ANCIENT  CITIES  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  :  Being  Voy- 
ages and  Explorations  in  Mexico  and  Central  America,  from  1857 
to  1882.  By  Desire  Charnat.  Translated  by  J.  Gonino  and 
Helen  S.  Conant.  Illustrations  and  Map.  Royal  8vo,  Ornamental 
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A  HISTORY  OF  OUR  OWN  TIMES,  from  the  Accession  of  Queen 
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THE   FRENCH    REVOLUTION.       By  Jdstin  H.  M'Cartht.    In 

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THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION  OF  1789,  as  viewed  in  the  Light  of 
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THE  HISTORY  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  By  John  S.  C. 
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NAPOLEON  AT  ST.  HELENA ;  or,  Anecdotes  and  Conversations 
of  the  Emperor  during  the  Years  of  his  Captivity.  Collected  from 
the  Memorials  of  Las  Casas,  O'Mcara,  Montholon,  Antommarcbi, 
and  others.  By  John  S.  C.  Abbott.  Illustrated.  8vo,  Cloth, 
$3  50  ;  Sheep,  $4  00  ;   Half  Calf,  $5  75. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  FREDERICK  THE  SECOND,  called  Fred- 
erick the  Great.  By  John  S.  C.  Abbott.  Illustrated.  8vo,  Cloth, 
$3  50 ;   Sheep,  f  4  00  ;   Half  Calf,  $5  75. 

STUDIES  OF  THE  GREEK  POETS.     By  John  Addingtow  Stm- 

OND8.     2  vols.,  Square  16mo,  Cloth,  $3  50  ;   Half  Calf,  $7  00. 

A  HISTORY  OF  CLASSICAL  GREEK  LITERATURE.  By  J.  P. 
Mahafft.     2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $4  GO ;   Half  Calf,  $7  50. 

A  HISTORY  OF  LATIN  LITERATURE,  from  Ennius  to  Boethius. 
By  George  Augustus  Simcox,  M.A.     2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  .f4  00. 

TENNYSON'S  COMPLETE  POEMS.  The  Complete  Poetical  Worti 
of  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson.  With  an  Introductory  Sketch  by  Anne 
Thackeray  Ritchie.  With  Portraits  and  Illustrations.  Svo,  Extra 
Cloth,  Bevelled,  Gilt  Edges,  $2  50. 


-8  Valuable  and  Interesting  Work$. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  EARTH  AND  MAN.  By  J.  W.  Dawsok, 
LL.D.,  F.R.S.,  F.G.S.,  Principal  and  Vice-Chancellor  of  McGill 
UniTcrsity,  Montreal.  With  Twenty  Illustrations.  New  and  Revised 
Edition.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WORLD,  according  to  Revelation  and  Sci- 
ence. By  J.  W.  Dawson,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.,  F.G.S.  12mo,  Cloth, 
$2  00. 

MODERN  SCIENCE  IN  BIBLE  LANDS.  By  Sir  J.  W.  Dawsok, 
C.M.G.,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.  Maps  and  Illustrations.  12nio,  Cloth, 
$2  00. 

*THE  STUDENT'S  SERIES.  Maps  and  Illustrations.  12mo,  Cloth: 
France. — Gibbon. — Greece. — Rome  (by  Liddeli.). — Old  Tes- 
tament History.  —  New  Testament  History.  —  Strickland's 
Queens  of  England. — Ancibnt  History  of  the  East. — Hal- 
lam's  Middle  Ages. — Hallam's  Constitutional  History  of  Eng- 
land.— Lyell's  Elements  of  Geology. — Merivales  General 
History  of  Rome. — Cox's  General  History  of  Greece. — Clas- 
sical Dictionary. — Skeat's  Etymological  Dictionary. — Raw- 
linson's  Ancient  History.     $1  25  per  volume. 

Lewis's  History  of  Germany. — Ecclesiastical  History,  Two 
Vols. — Hume's  England. — Modern  Europe.     $1  50  per  volume. 
Westcott  and  Hort's  Greek  Testament,  $1  00. 

JESUS  CHRIST  IN  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT  ;  or,  The  Great  Ar- 
gument. By  W.  H.  Thomson,  M.A.,  M.D.  Crown  8vo,  Cloth, 
$2  00. 

MODERN  ITALIAN  POETS.  (1770-1870.)  Essays  and  Versions. 
By  William  Dean  Howells.    With  Portraits.     12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

SYDNEY  SMITH.  A  Sketch  of  the  Life  and  Times  of  the  Rev. 
Sydney  Smith.  By  Stuart  J.  Reid.  With  Steel-plate  Portrait  and 
Illustrations.     8to,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

THE  FALL  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE.  Being  the  Story  of  the 
Fourth  Crusade.     By  Edwin  Pears,  LL.B.     8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

CARICATURE  AND  OTHER  COMIC  ART,  in  All  Times  and  Many 
Lands.  By  James  Parton.  203  Illustrations.  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut 
Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $5  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

GEORGE  ELIOT'S  LIFE.  Related  in  her  Letters  and  Jonmals. 
Arranged  and  Edited  by  her  Husband,  J.  W.  Cross.  Portraits 
and  Illustrations.  3  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  75 ;  Half  Calf,  $9  00. 
Popular  Edition  :  Cloth,  $2  25  ;   Half  Binding,  $2  00. 

COLERIDGE'S  WORKS.  The  Complete  Works  of  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge.  With  an  Introductory  Essay  upon  his  Philosophical  and 
Theological  Opinions.  Edited  by  Prof.  W.  G.  T.  Shedd.  With 
Steel  Portrait,  and  an  Index.  7  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00  per  t<4- 
am«  t  $12  00  per  set ;  Half  Calf,  $24  26. 


Valuable  and  Interesting  Works.  9 


THE  "  FRIENDLY  EDITION "  of  Shakespeare's  Works.  Edited 
bv  W.  J.  RoLFE.  In  Twenty  Volumes.  Illustrated.  16mo,  Gilt 
Tops  and  Uncut  Edges.  Cloth,  $25  00;  Half  Leather,  $35  00; 
Half  Calf,  $50  00  per  Set. 

LIFE  OF  JAMES  BUCHANAN,  Fifteenth  President  of  the  United 
States.  By  Geokge  Ticknok  Cuktis.  With  Two  Steel -Plate 
Portraits.     2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $6  00. 

CYCLOPEDIA  OF  BRITISH  AND  AMERICAN  POETRY.  Ed- 
ited by  Epks  Sargent.  Royal  8vo,  Illuminated  Cloth,  Colored 
Edges,  $4  50;  Half  Leather,  $5  00. 

ADVENTURES  IN  THE  GREAT  FOREST  of  Equatorial  Africa 
and  the  Country  of  the  Dwarfs.  By  Paul  Dd  Chaillu.  Abridged 
and  Popular  Edition.  With  Map  and  Illustrations.  Post  8vo, 
Cloth,  $1  75, 

LIVINGSTONE'S  ZAMBESI  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  ta  the 
Zambesi  and  its  Tributaries,  and  of  the  Discovery  of  the  Lakes 
Shirwa  and  Nyassa,  1858  to  1864.  By  David  and  Charles  Liv- 
ingstone.    Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;   Siieep,  $5  50. 

THE  LAST  JOURNALS  OF  DAVID  LIVINGSTONE  in  Central 
Africa,  from  1865  to  his  Death.  Continued  by  a  Narrative  of  his 
Last  Moments,  obtained  from  his  Faithful  Servants  Chuma  and  Snsi. 
By  Horace  Waller.  With  Portrait,  Maps,  and  Illustrations.  8vo, 
Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Sheep,  $6  00. 

HISTORY  OF  FRIEDRICH  H.,  called  Frederick  the  Great.  By 
Thomas  Carlyle.  Portraits,  Maps,  Plans,  etc.  6  vols.,  l^o, 
Cloth,  $7  00;  Sheep,  $9  90;  Half  Calf,  S18  00. 

THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION  :  A  History.    By  Thomas  Carltlb. 

2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  50;  Sheep,  $3  3o';  Half  Calf,  $6  00. 

OLIVER  CROMWELL'S  LETTERS  AND  SPEECHES,  including 
the  Supplement  to  the  First  Edition.  With  Elucidations.  By 
Thomas  Carltle.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  60;  Sheep,  $3  30; 
Half  Calf,  $6  00. 

PAST  AND  PRESENT,  CHARTISM,  AND  SARTOR  RESARTUS. 
By  Thomas  Carltle.     1 2mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

EARLY  KINGS  OF  NORWAY,  AND  THE  PORTRAITS  OP 
JOHN  KNOX.     By  Thomas  Carltle.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

REMINISCENCES  BY  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  Edited  by  J.  A. 
Froudb.  12mo,  Cloth,  with  Copious  Index,  and  with  Thirteen  Por- 
traits, 50  cents. 

BROUGHAM'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  Life  and  Times  of  Henry, 
Lord  Brougham.    Written  by  Himself.     3  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

MARCUS  AURELIUS  ANTONINUS.  By  Paul  Barrow  Wamok. 
Crown  8ro,  Cloth,  f2  50. 


10  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works. 

FROUDE'S  LIFE  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE.  Part  I.  A  His- 
tory of  the  First  Forty  Years  of  Carlyle's  Life  (1795-1835).  By 
James  Anthoky  Froudk,  M.A.  With  Portraits  and  Illustrations. 
12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00.  Part  IL  A  History  of  Carlyle's  Life  in  Lon- 
don (1834-1881).  By  James  Anthony  Froude.  Illustrated.  12mo, 
Cloth,  f  1  00. 

LIFE  OF  CICERO.  By  Anthony  Trollope.  2  vols.,  12mo, 
Cloth,  $3  00. 

FROM  EGYPT  TO  PALESTINE.  Through  Sinai,  the  Wilderness, 
and  the  South  Country.  Observations  of  a  Journey  made  with  Spe- 
cial Reference  to  the  History  of  the  Israelites.  By  S.  C.  Bartlett, 
D.D.     Maps  and  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  LOCKE.  By  H.  R.  Fox  Bodrne.  2  vols., 
8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

THE  ATMOSPHERE.  Translated  from'^the  French  of  Camillb 
Flammarion.  With  10  Chromo  -  Lithographs  and  86  Wood-cuts. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $6  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $8  25. 

A  TEXT -BOOK  OF  CHURCH  HISTORY.  By  Dr.  John  C.  L. 
Gieseler.  Revised  and  Edited  bv  Rev.  Henry  B.  Smith,  D.D. 
Vols.  L,  II.,  III.,  and  IV.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  25  each:  Vol.  V.,  8vo, 
Cloth,  $3  00.  Complete  Sets,  5  vols..  Sheep,  $14  50;  Half  Calf, 
$23  25. 

THE  HUGUENOTS :  their  Settlements,  Churches,  and  Industries  in 
England  and  Ireland.  By  Samuel  Smiles.  Willi  an  Appendix  re- 
lating to  the  Huguenots  in  America.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

THE  HUGUENOTS  IN  FRANCE  after  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict 
of  Nantes ;  with  a  Visit  to  the  Country  of  the  Vaudois.  By  Sam- 
uel Smiles.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

THE  LIFE  OF  GEORGE  STEPHENSON,  and  of  his  Son,  Robert 
Stephenson  ;  comprising,  also,  a  History  of  the  Invention  and  Intro- 
duction of  the  Railway  Locomotive.  By  Samuel  Smiles.  Illus- 
trated.    8vo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

THE  VOYAGE  OF  THE  CHALLENGER.  The  Atlantic:  an 
Account  of  the  General  Results  of  the  Voyage  during  1873  and  the 
Early  Part  of  1870.  By  Sir  Wtville  Thomson,  K.C.B.,  F.R.S. 
Illustrated.     2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $12  00. 

THE  POETS  AND  POETRY  OF  SCOTLAND :  From  the  Earliest 
to  the  Present  Time.  Comprising  Characteristic  Selections  from  the 
Works  of  the  more  Noteworthy  Scottish  Poets,  with  Biographical 
and  Critical  Notices.  By  James  Grant  Wilson.  With  Portraits 
on  Steel.     2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $10  00  ;  Gilt  Edges,  $11  00. 

THE  HEART  OF  AFRICA.  Three  Years'  Travels  and  Adventures 
in  the  Unexplored  Regions  of  the  Centre  of  Africa — from  1868  to 
1871.  By  Geobo  Schwkinfurth.  Translated  by  Ellen  E.  Fkew- 
■B.     Illiutrated.     2  vols.,  8to,  Cloth,  $8  GO. 


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